From White to Black
by Opifex the Singer
Summary: Prequel to Skade and Black Dragon. This one tells Galbatorix's backstory. I changed it to make it a little less Star Wars. Enjoy.
1. Dark Beginnings

**From White To Black**

K.J.Taylor

Chapter One

Dark Beginnings

Ingë Taranisäii, last of the ancient House of Taranis, lay on her back on a straw pallet in a grubby, rank-smelling room and tried to breathe calmly. She was attended by a pair of nurses, one of whom bathed her forehead with a wet cloth. Ingë was barely aware of them. All she knew just then was fear. A giant hand had wrapped itself around her and was squeezing, and sweat ran down her face in torrents. She pushed and strained, feeling as if her body was tearing open, and refused the pain-killing potion which one of the nurses offered her. In her head, voices spiralled and whispered. _Do you know what you did? Do you know what you've done?_

'Skandar,' she whispered.

Then the pain took her again. She laboured under it for hours. The two midwives worked efficiently, and with their help Ingë finally gave birth to her child. She lay back, exhausted, and one of the midwives put the child into her arms. She clutched it to her chest, staring through foggy eyes at the little bundle of life that was both her curse and her hope. It was a boy. His wispy hair was jet-black. And, most strangely, so were his eyes. He made no sound, but looked back calmly at her through those impenetrable eyes, and in spite of all his existence had done to destroy her own life she loved him more in that moment than she had ever loved anyone in her life.

The midwife reached out to take him away from her, and she pulled away, her eyes fearful. 'Please,' she said. 'Let me hold him a little while longer.'

'We need to clean him and wrap him up,' said the midwife. 'Afterwards you can hold him again, and your… you will both be allowed to spend a short time with the father.'

'Thankyou,' said Ingë, and let go of the child.

'Menulis commanded it,' said the midwife, stone-faced. She left the room, taking the child with her. Ingë watched them go, feeling a terrible anxiety that she would never see her son again.

But she did see him again. She was taken back to her cell, where she was fed and told to rest. She slept a few hours on the rough bed provided, and when she woke up she found that the child had been placed next to her. He took him into her arms again and let him suckle, aware of nothing just then but the need to keep him warm and safe.

'You're mine,' she whispered to him. 'My love. My precious one.'

The door opened, and she looked up in time to see a tall, ragged shape enter her cell. She stood up. 'Skandar.'

He was an elf; black haired, with a ragged beard and unreadable black eyes. And though he was clad in torn, ill-fitting clothes and was filthy, he was still graceful, his face angular and handsome. Ingë threw herself into his arms, and the two of them kissed passionately, almost violently.

'Ingë,' the elf murmured.

As she withdrew, Ingë realised there was a wetness on her fingertips. It was blood. She looked at Skandar, and saw the marks of a whip on his chest and back. 'Skandar,' she whispered. 'They…'

'I'll be all right,' he said. 'Ingë, is this…?'

She gave the child to him. 'Yes,' she said. 'This is our son.'

Skandar touched the child's forehead with his slender fingers. 'He has my eyes.'

'And your hair,' said Ingë.

'Have you named him?' asked Skandar.

'No,' said Ingë. 'I thought… they'll give him a name after we're dead and they give him away to be looked after by strangers.'

'They named him before he was born,' said the dark elf. 'They call him shame.'

Ingë touched her son's tiny head. 'We should name him,' she said.

'I have a name for him,' said Skandar. 'It's an old name in our language. I'd like to honour the dark elves by giving it to him.'

Ingë nodded. 'I thought of calling him Taranis, but… what name have you thought of?'

Skandar hugged his son to his chest, dark eyes glittering. 'I want to call him Galbatorix.'

'Galbatorix,' Ingë repeated, trying the sound of it. 'What does it mean?'

'It means "great king",' said Skandar.

Ingë laughed a slightly crazed laugh. 'Great king. Our son…'

'You don't like it?' said Skandar.

Ingë kissed him again. 'I love it,' she said. 'Galbatorix will be his name.'

'And may he grow to honour us,' said Skandar.

'They'll tell him to be ashamed of us,' said Ingë. 'But one day he'll learn the truth.'

'One day he'll understand,' said Skandar.

'Yes,' said Ingë. 'He'll see that there's no shame in love. I'm sure he will.'

'If he has a mind like yours, then he will,' said Skandar, smiling on her.

'And if he's strong like you, he'll be able to survive it,' said Ingë. 'And he will be.'

The two of them embraced, holding their son between them. For the rest of his life that moment of warmth and love would remain buried somewhere inside the child, and even if he never truly remembered it it would stay with him in some form; a source of comfort in dark times, and courage at moments of danger.

But their time together was all too short. The cell door re-opened and two guards came in and hauled Skandar away. The dark elf was too weak to put up much resistance, and allowed himself to be taken away, though he held onto Ingë's hand to the last, his eyes looking into hers. Ingë hugged her child and watched resignedly until the door slammed shut and her beloved was gone.

She sat down on the bed, realising that her shoulders were shaking. Ingë Taranisäii was a delicate creature. She had a slim figure, and her features were finely-sculpted and beautiful, almost elvish. Her long hair was curly and coloured a rich reddish brown. Even though she was a prisoner, her status meant she was allowed to wear a finely-tailored gown made from green and golden silk decorated with expensive lace. There were exquisite gold rings on her fingers, and she wore a rope of precious stones around her neck. The other necklace she wore, however, was very plain, and old as well – so much so that it looked a little odd hanging beside the glittering splendour of the string of well-cut jewels. It was a stone pendant, carved into a triple-spiral design and strung on a plain leather thong, and Ingë had always worn it. It was the emblem of the House of Taranis, and had been inscribed on the sword wielded by Taranis himself, more than nine hundred years ago. Nestled in his mother's lap, the child blinked and reached out a tiny hand toward it. Ingë looked down and saw him, and suddenly smiled through her tears.

'You'll honour us, won't you?' she said. 'My little one. My Galbatorix.'

On the morning following, Menulis the elf stood on a large wooden platform, regal and poised in the bright sunlight. He was very old, but like all elves the only indication of his age lay in his dignified and patient way of carrying himself, rather than in his youthful face. Menulis, however, was more than just an elf. He was a dragon-rider. The riders, known in the ancient tongue as the Shur'tugal, were the ruling force in Alagaësia. Every ruler in the land, no matter how powerful, answered to them. Even the wild dragons, notoriously proud and fierce creatures, were subject to their laws. Menulis was a member of the great council of the riders, which was a group of the five oldest and wisest of their kind. Menulis was one of the most senior and respected even of these, and as he had been present at Teirm at the time he had taken up the task of presiding over important legal cases. And when the young noblewoman Ingë Taranisäii had been brought before him accused of taking her slave, Skandar, for a lover, Menulis had not hesitated to sentence the pair of them to death. It was forbidden for slaves and free-borns to be lovers, and doubly forbidden for elves and humans. The fact that Ingë was carrying a bastard half-breed child and refused to take the potion that would kill it before birth only helped to seal her fate.

Now Menulis stood on the platform, where a stone block had been set up and a heavy-set man stood ready with a large axe in his hand. A crowd had gathered to witness the execution, and were being held back by a contingent of guards. Only Menulis remained impervious to the howling and savage shouts from the onlookers. Behind him, standing on the cobbled street behind the platform, was the looming presence of the dragon Nyx, who was Menulis' friend and bonded partner.

'_Humans are such crude creatures,'_ her voice remarked in the elf's head.

'_Yes,'_ said Menulis. _'I didn't expect so many of them to come.'_

The two of them were silent, and waited patiently until a group of guards arrived, dragging the prisoners with them. Ingë still held her child in her arms, but before she was taken up to the platform a guard took him from her. She kissed the child passionately on the forehead, and then was hauled away from him, not taking her eyes off him until the last.

When she and Skandar appeared on the platform, the response from the crowd was instantaneous. They let out a collective bellow, a sound full of contempt and bloodlust, and some began to hurl rotten fruit and handfuls of mud at the platform. Menulis ignored them. Skandar and Ingë were taken to the front of the platform, where the stone block stood, and the rider came forward, unfurling a scroll of parchment as he did so in order to read the charges written on it.

'Ingë Taranisäii,' he said, his voice loud and booming. 'And Skandar of the dark elves of the North. You have been found guilty of initiating and pursuing an obscene and unnatural relationship, in open defiance of the laws of elves and men. You have disgraced the reputation of the House of Taranis, and as if this were not bad enough you have also produced a half-breed child. The evidence is overwhelming, and your defence inadequate, and you have been sentenced to death by beheading. Have you anything to say before justice is done upon you?'

The crowd quieted down a little to listen, and Skandar took the opportunity offered to him. 'There is no shame in love,' he said, his still-powerful voice carrying far over the heads of the mob. 'And I was not born a slave. I am Skandar Treganni of the dark elves of the Northern mountains, and my blood is as noble as any. Kill me, but all you will have from me is my blood and my contempt.'

The crowd jeered in response, and a broken jug, hurled from an upper window of one of the nearby houses, hit Skandar in the face. He snarled and spat blood onto the platform, refusing to show pain.

'And you, Ingë Taranisäii?' said Menulis as if nothing had happened.

'I was not deceived,' said Ingë, holding her chin up proudly. 'My love for Skandar is a true love, and I have kept it in spite of all that stood in our way. You will never make me ashamed of that.' She turned suddenly to look at Menulis. 'You have condemned me, Argetlam,' she said. 'But do not condemn my son. Let him be brought up by people who will treat him kindly. That is my last request.'

Menulis signalled to the guards. 'Let the sentence be carried out,' he said, showing no sign that he had heard Ingë's plea.

Skandar was hauled over to the block and forced to kneel, his neck laid over its scarred and stained surface. The executioner moved into place and raised his axe. Ingë did not look away. She forced herself to watch. Even in death, she would not be ashamed of him. Skandar looked into her eyes, and she could see his fear. Then the axe came down and Ingë screamed.

The crowd roared its approval, and two guards dragged Skandar's body away. Then it was Ingë's turn. She went to the block, fighting every inch of the way, crying Skandar's name. But she was shoved roughly to her knees, and her head was thrust onto the block. She saw the executioner's feet as he balanced himself and lifted the axe once again, its blade dripping with Skandar's blood.

There was a flash of steel, a loud thump, and another shout from the crowd. And then it was all over.

Menulis oversaw the removal of the bodies. Skandar would be burnt and his ashes thrown away. Ingë, meanwhile, would be returned to her family so that she could be interred in its ancestral tomb. Menulis felt no satisfaction. He had done what needed to be done, and all he felt was disgust.

The rider stepped down from the platform, wanting to be away from the mob. There a guard put the child into his arms, and he held it awkwardly, looking at its tiny face. A boy, black-haired and black-eyed like his father, his stare disconcertingly direct.

'Has a foster family been chosen?' Menulis asked, diverting his gaze from those bottomless eyes with some effort.

'Yes, Lord,' said the guard. 'A pair of traders who live down near the docks. They said they were willing to raise the boy and let him work at their stall.'

'I will send one of the servants to take him to them,' said Menulis. 'In the meantime, I want you to disperse the crowd.'

The guard saluted and left. Menulis walked away toward Nyx, who brought her dark-blue head down to sniff at the child. _'So tiny,'_ she commented.

'_Yes,'_ said Menulis. _'Come on. We'll take him back to the palace.'_

That evening, the child was delivered by a female servant to the place that would be his new home. It was a modest house not far from the water-front, with barrels stacked around the door and a small yard out the back. The young couple living there came to the door and were given the child, along with a piece of paper and a small bag of money.

The woman, a short and robust person with tousled blonde hair, took the child into her arms while her husband stood by, looking on with a slightly dubious expression. The servant handed the paper and the money to him, saying; 'Take good care of him, and try to keep his true origins a secret from other people. But you must tell him one day. It's his right to know.'

'Does he have a name?' the woman asked.

'His parents named him Galbatorix before they died,' said the servant. 'But you would be advised to choose a different name for him.'

The man shook his head. 'Galbatorix is much too grand. We'll change it.'

'As you wish,' said the servant, and left.

So the child was accepted into a new home with new parents, and his life began. They gave him the name of Arren; a good, solid, sensible name, and cared for him as if he were their own. He grew well, and the initial stir over the execution of his parents soon died down. The fate of the child had of course been kept secret, and so he grew up in peaceful anonymity, not knowing anything about his true parentage. His foster-father, whose name was Cardock, had a business selling leather goods from his stall in the city's markets every day, and his wife Freyja helped him. Once he was old enough, Arren was expected to do the same, starting at the age of five when he began helping Freyja pack the goods into boxes ready for transportation to the market.

He grew to be a strong and well-coordinated boy, but a strange one. His face was naturally impassive, and he retained his disconcerting jet-black stare. His hair grew to be thick and curly, and he took great pride in it, brushing it every morning, much to his foster father's embarrassment. It was probably his elvish blood coming through, Cardock thought darkly. They had always been poncy and fastidious.

He was a silent child, too. He rarely smiled, almost never laughed, and only spoke when it was necessary. It only added to the air of slight mystery around him, and often unsettled people who didn't know him. Fortunately his ears weren't pointed like his father's, which would certainly have raised awkward questions, but he very quickly showed that he had inherited a grace and an elegance that was distinctively elvish. It singled him out amongst his peers, which was why, one day, when he was nine years old, he came home with bruises on his face.

'What happened?' Freyja demanded instantly.

Arren was as calm and collected as always. 'Tommen and Bruin hit me,' he said. 'They called me a freak.'

'You didn't provoke them, did you?' said Freyja, who wouldn't have believed it even if he'd said yes.

'No,' said Arren. 'I was just going to the well. Mother, why did they do that? I didn't do anything wrong.' He looked at her with earnest entreaty in his eyes.

Freyja took him in her arms. 'It's all right,' she soothed. 'It's not your fault; it's theirs. If they bother you again, ignore them and don't show fear. That's what they want you to do.'

'I won't,' Arren promised, his thin form relaxing in her arms. 'I'm not afraid of them, anyway. They're stupid and I hate them.'

For some reason the words chilled Freyja.

'Mother?' said Arren again.

'Yes, Arren?'

'Why am I so different?' he looked at her, very calm.

'You're not different; you're special, and that's nothing to be ashamed of,' said Freyja.

It was the standard reply to that question, but it didn't seem to satisfy Arren. 'Then why am I special?' he persisted.

'Because you are,' said Freyja. 'Now, run along. There's work to do.'

At the age of eleven, Arren was old enough to begin helping his foster father run the leather stall. And it was then that he revealed a startling talent. Never verbose, when faced with the challenge of persuading passers-by to stop and buy a new belt or a shoulder-bag, he demonstrated an eloquence that very few had seen in a grown man, let alone a child. His direct stare, combined with a few well-chosen words, were enough to make someone want to buy just about whatever he suggested and to do it gladly, too. And it was a talent that kept unfolding. By the time he was twelve, Cardock was happy to leave him in charge of the stall, and he became a well-known figure among the other traders and regular customers at the markets. They called him Arren the Silver-Tongued, and tales of his abilities were told in taverns all through the city. What Arren himself thought about this was difficult to say, but he seemed to like being respected.

He was less successful when it came to making friends; other children of his age were nervous of him and stayed away, and he showed little interest in them. Inevitably bullies continued to target him, and their intentions were often violent. Arren would at first try and talk his way out of trouble if he couldn't avoid them altogether, and on the occasions when that didn't work he would fight. That was when he revealed another thing inherited from his father – when he wanted to, he could be a formidable fighter. He was stronger, faster and more agile than they were, and though they had the superiority of numbers he gave as good as he got. In the end they became frightened of him and left him alone.

And that was Arren's life. During the day there was work, in the evenings Freyja would teach him how to read and write, and at night he would sleep in his hammock under the eaves at the back of the house. A happy enough life, if not a grand or exciting one. And then, one day, when Arren was fourteen, everything changed.

It started innocently enough. Freyja and Cardock were sitting by the fire after the evening meal, enjoying the silence and the warmth, and Arren came to join them. He sat on his stool by the fireplace and held his hands by the fire. But there was a preoccupied air around him that suggested he had more on his mind than just getting warm.

Eventually he said; 'You're not my real parents, are you?'

'What?' said Cardock, caught off-guard.

'I said you're not my real parents, are you?' said Arren. His tone was quite matter-of-fact.

'Why… darling, whatever gave you that idea?' said Freyja.

Arren shrugged. 'I had a suspicion for a long time. I'm nothing like you. My hair and eyes are different, I have a different build… we look completely different. And I know you're not my parents. Inside, I know.'

'That's no reason to think it's true,' said Cardock. 'Aren't you jumping to conclusions?'

'Perhaps I was for a while,' said Arren. 'But then I found this hidden in the cupboard.' He held out a piece of yellowed paper. Cardock took it, but there was no point in reading it. He'd known what it said for fourteen years.

_This is a request from the court of Teirm that you, Cardock Aniruson and your wife Freyja will take charge of the orphan boy entrusted to you by the authorities and raise him to manhood. You are hereby commanded to maintain secrecy and to be discreet, and to understand that he is now your responsibility. We have provided a sum of money as compensation, but no further funds will be forthcoming and requests for such will be ignored. This document was signed and sealed on the Day of the Seventh Hatching in the eight hundred and eighty-seventh year of the Riders' rule. _

Underneath that was the official seal of the grand council of the riders, and Menulis' neat signature.

Cardock looked up at his foster son's solemn face. 'Well,' he said gruffly. 'I suppose we should have told you by now. They advised us to do it when we felt the time was right, but… well, now you know. But it doesn't mean we don't love you. You're a good lad.'

'Who were my real parents?' said Arren.

Cardock opened his mouth to make some excuse for not telling him, but the boy's black eyes were fixed on his face and, just as many people had done in the past and would do in the future, he found his resistance shrivelling up in the face of that stare.

'I don't like to tell you this, son,' he said. 'But… your parents were criminals. They were both executed the day after you were born.'

'Tell me why,' said Arren, betraying no emotion.

So Cardock told him the story, slowly and hesitantly and with much reluctance. Arren listened in silence, and once his foster-father's words ran out he said; 'So I'm half-elvish.'

'Yes.'

'But how can that be possible?' said Arren. 'Elves can't be made into slaves. So why was my father…?'

'Your father wasn't like the elves you've seen,' said Cardock. 'Those were all Western and Southern elves.'

'Your father was from the North,' Freyja put in. 'There's cold, mountainous land there. The elves in the North are called dark elves, and your father was one of them.'

'Dark elves?' Arren repeated. 'I've never heard of those. What happened to them?'

'There was a war between them and the Southern elves,' Freyja explained. 'The dark elves lost. Most of them were killed and others, like your father, were sold into slavery.'

'They wiped them out?' said Arren, stiffening. 'Why? How could the riders let that happen?'

Cardock shifted uneasily. 'The riders are the reason why the Southern elves won,' he said. 'After they agreed to help them fight, the dark elves didn't stand a chance.'

'But why?' said Arren. 'Why would they want to do that at all?'

'I don't know,' said Cardock.

'The riders are supposed to keep the peace,' said Arren, staring into the fire. 'They can't do things like that.'

'The riders can do what they like,' said Cardock. 'They always have.'

'Why?' said Arren.

'Because they're powerful,' said Cardock, shrugging. 'Powerful people don't have to answer to anyone but themselves.'

Arren said nothing for a time. He seemed to be deep in thought. Eventually he said; 'Is Arren my real name?'

'No,' said Freyja. 'I mean… it is. But it's not the one your parents gave you. We changed it after they gave you to us.'

'What did they call me?' said Arren, turning his powerful gaze on her.

'It was… I'm not sure. Cardock, do you know?'

Cardock thought it over. 'I think it was…'

'Galbatorix,' said Freyja suddenly. 'That was it. Yes. Galbatorix.'

'Galbatorix,' said Arren. 'It's… very strange. Galbatorix.' He repeated the name several times, trying the sound of it. 'So my name is Galbatorix,' he said at length.

Freyja started to speak, but stopped. Her adopted son was smiling a strange, cold smile, a smile without any joy in it. And for a brief moment his impassive eyes showed a hint of an emotion – agony.


	2. Galbatorix

Chapter Two

Galbatorix

After this, things changed. Arren changed. He became sullen and withdrawn, going from being merely taciturn to simply refusing to speak at all. He still did all his daily chores, but there was a lassitude about him now; a disinterest in life. He ate less and spent a lot of time on his own, though he never gave any hint of where he went or what he did there. And then, after several months of this sort of thing, he stopped answering to his name. This frustrated Cardock no end, and after the third occasion he said; 'Dammit, Arren, I'm trying to talk to you!'

Arren fixed him with the dreaded stare. 'My name is Galbatorix,' he said.

And, in spite of all Cardock's and Freyja's protests, he kept insisting on it. Then he set about correcting everyone else he knew, impervious to the bemused questions and quizzical looks he got in response. He didn't care what anyone thought; his name was Galbatorix, now and forever, and people were going to call him it or be ignored.

Not long before his fifteenth birthday, he dodged his responsibilities at the marketplace yet again and went wandering. He strolled off through the streets with no particular goal in mind, hands in his pockets, enjoying the solitude. There were other people in the streets, of course, but none of them were speaking to them or looking at him, so it was solitude of a kind. It was the kind he preferred. He liked to watch the doings of other people around him as an independent observer, unnoticed and separate. It was interesting to see how people worked, how they walked and spoke to each other, the unconscious gestures and signals they used. It was almost like watching a dance.

Traversing the streets and watching this dance as always, his eye was caught by something. He paused to look again. It was a small shop, undistinguished and rather shabby, with a bead curtain hanging over the doorway. He wasn't quite sure why he'd noticed it at all, but the more he looked at it the more he felt a nagging urge to go inside and have a look. He paused, and then shrugged. Why not?

Thrusting the bead curtain aside, he entered the shop. It consisted of a single pokey room, which was full of strange plants growing in pots. The air smelt of herbs and incense, and there was a faint tinkling from the crystals and wind-chimes hanging from the ceiling. Arren, or Galbatorix as he now thought of himself, stood uncertainly in the doorway, wondering what on earth would be sold in a place like this. The potted herbs, perhaps? But there wasn't any counter, and there weren't any customers either. The only person in the room was sitting at a small table in the middle of it, flipping through a book. It was a young-looking woman with a mass of curly brown hair, clad in a fringed, violently-purple dress that made her look, to say the least, rather eccentric. There was a crystal ball on a stand sitting on the table in front of her, and a number of other, equally odd items were strewn around it.

The woman looked up and saw him. 'Hello,' she said. 'Welcome to my shop. How can I help you?'

Galbatorix paused. 'I was just wondering… what do you sell here?'

'Herbs and potions, mostly,' said the woman. 'But I tell fortunes as well sometimes. My name's Angela. And yours?'

'I'm Galbatorix,' said Galbatorix.

'That's an odd name!' she said cheerfully. 'Well, Galbatorix… what can I interest you in?'

Galbatorix paused. 'You can scry people's futures?'

'Oh, yes. I don't often do it, though. Only if someone looks interesting enough.'

Galbatorix couldn't resist. 'And am I interesting enough?'

Angela looked him up and down, and then grinned manically. 'Certainly! Tall, dark, mysterious, odd-sounding name – yes! Very interesting indeed! Have a seat, why don't you, and I'll tell you your future! Or part of it, anyway.'

'How much will it cost?' asked Galbatorix.

'Nothing,' said Angela. 'You can't put a price on the future, can you? Come on, sit down, I won't bite.'

Galbatorix obeyed – why not? Angela got up, disappeared into the back room, and returned holding a leather bag. Sitting down again, she dumped it on the open pages of the book. 'Now then,' she said. 'What's in this bag can tell you your future, and it'll do it truly. Are you ready?'

Galbatorix nodded. Angela closed the book and put it aside, then tipped out the contents of the bag onto the tabletop. A heap of long, polished bones fell out, each one carved with various symbols. Angela gathered them up in her hands and cast them onto the tabletop, muttering three strange words as she did so. The bones landed in a heap, and the fortune-teller started to examine them, tracing lines and patterns which she apparently saw in them with her fingertip and murmuring to herself. Galbatorix waited patiently for several minutes, and then Angela finally looked up.

'Well,' she said. And then, 'Well,' again. She had gone rather pale. 'I've seen… some very strange things in these bones.'

Galbatorix said nothing. If she was going to try and put on a show and be all dramatic, he wasn't about to play along.

'Well,' said Angela yet again. 'Are you sure you want to hear it?'

Galbatorix fixed her with a cold, impatient stare.

'Right then,' said Angela, taking the hint. 'This bone here… yes, that one – indicates a long life. And this one here, this signifies… it signifies a shadow. Something big and dark, hanging over you like a stormcloud. The shadow is a great tragedy. Maybe in the past, maybe in the future. But it will govern much of your destiny. And here we see the signs of power. Either yours or wielded against you, I'm not sure. Maybe both. And the rest of it is obscured. But there is one thing… something in these bones that is certain.'

'Yes?' said Galbatorix. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear this.

Angela looked at him, an expression almost of fear in her eyes. 'Do you know,' she said slowly, 'Did you know that Teirm wasn't always here? Before it was built there was another city in its place. I lived there. And one day that city was destroyed. Two black dragons razed it to the ground. They were working for a man called Taranis; he was the rider of one of them.'

Galbatorix tensed. Taranis…

'That dragon was the female, Silarae,' said Angela. 'The other dragon was her mate. Ravana. They killed everyone in the city and destroyed my home. I had to run for it; I only just made it out alive. But I remember the screams, and the fire. Black fire, it was.'

'What has this got to do with me?' said Galbatorix.

Angela ignored him. She touched the heap of bones on the table. 'These bones are from a dragon,' she said. 'They're Silarae's bones. She was killed along with Taranis, only a few days later, and I took them from her body.'

'Wait,' said Galbatorix. 'How can you have been there? It was hundreds of years ago!'

Angela shrugged. 'I'm older than I look,' she said. 'But I assure you, I was there. And the day before she died I met Silarae face to face. And I met her mate. Ravana. He was a wild dragon. Huge, savage, black from nose to tail.'

'So what?' said Galbatorix again.

'I looked that dragon right in the face,' said Angela. 'And now, looking at you… I see the exact same expression in your eyes as there was in his.' She looked at the bones again, watching the light play over the symbols carved into them. 'The seed of destruction,' she muttered. And then, at last; 'One day,' she said. 'The bones say that one day you will be the most hated man in Alagaësia.'

There was a tense silence, and then Galbatorix let out a short, harsh laugh. 'Very impressive,' he said, although his tone suggested he thought otherwise. 'A fine performance. Well done. Perhaps you should take up acting. Now if you'll excuse me.' He got up and left the shop without waiting for a reply.

On reaching the open air, he suddenly felt a burst of rage and strode off down the street, fuming. Spotting an empty bottle standing discarded in the gutter, he aimed a kick at it and sent it flying across the street, where it shattered. It didn't relieve his feelings at all. Galbatorix had never really lost his temper before. At least, not like this. But just now he felt absolutely justified in doing it. What had he done wrong? What had he _ever_ done wrong? Nothing. Not a thing. He'd never hurt anyone, never killed anyone, never stolen anything or destroyed anything. All he had ever done was try and live his life, and yet things like this kept happening to him. He was especially angry toward the fortune-teller. Theatricality was all very well, but giving him a fortune full of tragedy and horror and then telling him he would be the most hated man in Alagaësia… how could anyone be so twisted? But he knew why she'd done it. It was because he was dark and unsmiling and looked unfriendly. That was why so many people had treated him the way they did – with suspicion and uncertainty. But it wasn't his fault that he was like that.

And his parents. He could never forget about them. They had died because he was born. If his mother had not become pregnant then she wouldn't have attracted suspicion and her parents wouldn't have had her followed, and then she wouldn't have been caught. And then, perhaps, she would still be alive. It was a burden that he shouldn't have to carry; the knowledge that he had, however unwittingly and however indirectly, killed his own parents. But he still had to carry that burden, even if it was unfair and unjust.

And then – 'What are _you_ doing here?' a voice demanded.

Galbatorix paused, and realised he had wandered into a shipyard by the docks. A gang of workmen were busily working on a half-completed ship, but one of them was standing by the gate and staring straight at him. It was Tommen, and he had now grown into a thickset young man with a powerful set of muscles from countless years spent carrying heavy wooden planks. 'Well?' he said again, aggressively hefting the hammer in his hand.

Galbatorix turned around smartly to leave – he was in no mood for another encounter of the cruel and stupid kind. But his way was blocked by Tommen's friend Bruin, who said; 'He said "what're you doing here", creep, so answer him. Go on.' He folded his arms, his expression full of dislike and hostility.

'Get out of my way,' Galbatorix commanded.

'Not until you answer the question,' said Bruin.

'What do you care?' said Galbatorix.

'It's our place,' said Tommen, going to stand by his friend. 'And no-one comes in here unless we ask 'em to. So what made you think _you_ could come here?'

'It was an accident,' said Galbatorix, feeling his temper rising again. 'And I go where I want to. You mindless piece of filth,' he added.

Tommen growled. 'No-one calls me that,' he said.

'I call them as I see them,' said Galbatorix coolly. In a way he was glad that he had got into this situation. All his pent-up rage and frustration was bubbling to the surface now, and he was itching for someone to take it out on.

Bruin's eyes narrowed. 'I'm sick of you hanging around the place,' he said. 'With yer fancy hair and yer black clothes, actin' like you're better 'n' us.'

'I act like I'm better than you because I _am_ better than you,' Galbatorix said recklessly, folding his own arms. 'So it's my right. Now get out of my way, idiot.'

'No,' said Tommen. 'We ain't going anywhere, Arren.'

'_My name is not Arren!'_ Galbatorix roared suddenly, his calm exterior suddenly breaking down.

'No, that's right, it's slimeball,' Bruin sneered. 'I reckon we ought to teach him a lesson, Tommen.'

'Yeah,' said Tommen, rolling up his sleeves and tossing aside the hammer.

'Come on, then,' Galbatorix snarled, balancing himself in readiness.

Tommen swung a punch at him. He dodged it and struck back, catching the bigger man on the jaw. Tommen bellowed and hit out again. This time it connected with Galbatorix's nose. Then Bruin joined in and the fight began in earnest. It was an untidy, violent affair, with much cursing and clumsy punching. Galbatorix fought quietly, like a wildcat, keeping his distance so as to avoid being cornered. Normally he avoided fights, but right now… right now all he wanted to do was to hurt these two thugs as badly as he could. The two of them were trying to get in close, hoping to knock him down so they could beat him up. But he weaved around and between them, never letting them get within more than an arm's length, and taking the opportunity to land a few painful blows on them at the same time. They started to get frustrated. Bruin made a grab for his neck, but Galbatorix caught him by the forearms and flung him to the ground. Before he could get up and before Tommen could interfere, he slammed the heel of his boot into his prone enemy's stomach. Bruin howled in pain and struggled to get up, swearing foully.

The other shipyard workers had noticed what was going on, and wandered over to watch. Far from trying to break it up, they started to shout encouragement. Goaded on, Galbatorix attacked Tommen while Bruin was disabled. The two of them met head-on and grappled with each other, seeking to knock each other over. It should have been no contest, but it was. The heavier Tommen shoved with all his might, but the slimmer, lighter Galbatorix somehow managed to hold his ground.

'C'mon, Bruin, help me!' Tommen shouted.

Galbatorix grinned horribly. 'Watch out,' he said. He kicked. Tommen screamed and started to fall over, but in the split second before he did Galbatorix wrenched his arm free and punched him, hard, in the face. Then Tommen hit the ground. There was a gasp from the onlookers.

'How the hell did you do that?' someone demanded.

Galbatorix looked up proudly. 'My father was a dark elf,' he said without thinking.

There were a few incredulous laughs. From his prone position on the ground Bruin said; 'There aren't any dark elves any more, liar.'

'Of course there aren't,' said Galbatorix. 'My father's dead. And so is my mother. Because she loved him.'

'He's lost it,' one man said, shaking his head.

'Yeah. Listen, lad, I know your parents, and they sure as hell aren't elves,' said another.

'They're not my parents,' said Galbatorix.

'Look, Arren, I really think-,'

'_My name is not Arren!_' Galbatorix shouted. 'It's Galbatorix! That's the name my father gave me… before they cut his head off.'

Bruin sat up, clutching his stomach, his expression confused. 'A dark elf?' he said. 'I think…'

'I think he's nuts,' said the man from the crowd. 'You must've hit him too hard in the head.'

'No, wait,' said Bruin. 'There was a dark elf here once. My dad works as an executioner sometimes, and he said he executed a dark elf. He was a slave who went and got his human mistress pregnant. The brat was adopted out, I heard.'

'Don't talk about my parents like that,' said Galbatorix in a low voice.

The onlookers were suddenly looking at him differently. As if he were some alien creature appeared in their midst, and not a person at all.

'A half-breed?' one man said, in tones of disbelief. 'You're a _half-breed?'_

'Yes,' said Galbatorix, utterly recklessly.

'Get out of here,' said the shipyard overseer, who was among the crowd. 'Now.'

'Fine,' said Galbatorix. He turned to leave. There were people standing in the way, and he started to shove his way through them. They shoved back, knocking him from man to man like a billiard ball. He pushed harder, still trying to get to the gate. Then someone hit him. Instinctively, he hit back. And then, quite suddenly, he was being kicked and struck from all sides. He did his best to stay upright, and began fighting his way through them as fast as he could. Then someone hit him in the back of the knees, and he toppled over. At once the mob closed in, and then there was only pain, and blood, and snarling, vicious faces. Before it, Galbatorix was more frightened than he had ever been in his life. With the revelation that he was the half-breed offspring of two criminals, suddenly he wasn't a person any more. Suddenly he was a creature to be put down. He wasn't Arren any more. He was Galbatorix. And Galbatorix was worthless.

The mob beat him mercilessly, and when he was semiconscious and unable to fight back any more they took him by the shoulders, dragged him to the waterside and threw him into the sea.

The cold shock of the water helped recall some of Galbatorix' senses. He struggled feebly, trying to keep his head above water, just able to hear the jeers of the mob above the clanging in his ears. At first he started to sink straight to the bottom, but the prospect of death woke him up and he started to kick at the water. His head broke the surface and he sucked in a lungful of air, gasping and choking. The shipyard labourers wandered off, their fun over with, and he was alone.

Galbatorix acted quickly. He swam toward the pier they'd thrown him off, and clung to one of the supports. There he pulled off his boots and let them sink, stripped off his tunic, and began to swim for the shore, forcing himself to move slowly and calmly so he wouldn't sink. He reached land and dragged himself up onto it like some primordial fish, then lay there spreadeagled, his back heaving, blood from his various wounds mingling with the waves that lapped around him. He didn't move for a long time. If anyone had noticed him, they would probably have thought he was dead. Eventually he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the grey sky. He ached in a hundred different places, one of his arms felt broken, his eye was swelling up, a couple of teeth had been knocked loose, and he had a horrible feeling that his ribs had been stoved in by someone's boot.

He was too badly concussed to feel particularly sorry for himself.

Later, limping slowly and painfully back toward his home, shivering in the cold, he began to think over what had happened and to understand some of the implications. Now he knew why his parents – his _foster_ parents, he corrected himself – had kept his true identity a secret for so long. He had never heard of an elf-human hybrid before in his life, but he _did_ know that a union between two people of different species was considered obscene and unnatural. It was perceived as being no better than a union between two people of the same sex, and both were utterly forbidden. Anyone caught breaking these taboos would be arrested and executed immediately. It was a law that had been passed and was maintained by the riders, and their control over commoners like himself was so absolute that most likely no elf and human couples had survived undetected long enough to produce offspring. Or maybe his mother had been allowed to bring him to term because she was a noble. He'd heard of the House of Taranis, of course. They had been a very rich old family, distantly related to the line of the old human kings who had ruled before the riders took over. During his childhood the last surviving Lord and Lady Taranisäii had died and so their family was now completely gone. Well, almost gone. He still carried their blood. But he certainly wouldn't be allowed to inherit their money or the title of Lord Taranisäii. He was a bastard. And a half-breed. Not a human and not an elf. The very symbol of a forbidden pairing. And if people knew it they would hate and fear him. He felt hatred, not just toward those thugs who had almost killed him, but toward just about everything else. The family that had disowned him. His parents, for making him what he was. And the system that had killed them. And he felt rage, but much of that was directed at himself. How could he have been so stupid? Stupid enough to think his heritage was something to be proud of. And stupid enough to publicly blurt out what should have been kept a secret at all costs. It had not only nearly cost him his life; it had cost him the protection that the secret had given him. Now it was not a secret any more. Now they knew. And soon others would know it too. His old life – his time of peace – was over now. Soon things would change.

And things did change. And they changed for the worse. It took Galbatorix a week to recover, which he did thanks partly to the care of Freyja. Fortunately there were no broken bones, but the day after the attack he was unable to walk properly and had to stay in his hammock. Freyja brought him soothing poultices and hot soup, and fussed over him. He refused to tell her what had happened, but she could probably guess. Deep inside he was glad she was there to look after him. She, at least, loved him in spite of what he was, even though he wasn't her real son. And Cardock, for all his gruffness, cared just as much in his own way. It made Galbatorix feel a little better.

Once he was well enough to be up and about again, he went off to work and almost immediately started to feel the consequences of his indiscretion. The people he passed in the street stared at him, even the ones who had known him for years. And when he reached the closer quarters of the marketplace, the mutterings began.

'…_Is that him?…Yes, that's the one I told you about. The half-breed. By the moon and stars, he's _weird,_ isn't he? Yeah. I've known him for five years, you know. Always thought he was a little odd. He always scared me a bit. He's so… well, unsettling. But that's the consequences of that kind of perversion, isn't it?… How could anyone be so thoughtless? Bringing a creature like that into the world - ! Ah, well, it takes that kind of twisted person to do that sort of thing, doesn't it?'_

And on and on. The words swirled around him, some loud, some quiet, but all of them either pitying, disgusted or outright hateful. People moved hastily out of his way, staring at him as if expecting him to attack them. Others spat at him and hurled insults, but none actually assaulted him, which was just as well. He did his best to ignore them, but it was hard; very hard. And it didn't get any easier over the next few days. Word had got around, and within a month he could not go anywhere in the city without being reminded of it. No matter where he was or what he was doing, it followed him. Words like 'half-breed', 'bastard', and 'freak of nature'… all these and more. He put up with it for a long time, but when the month ended and it was still going on, and he had been assaulted twice more by other youths who simply couldn't tolerate his existence, he resolved to do something about it. During dinner one evening, Cardock said; 'I found out something interesting today.'

Galbatorix looked up from his bowl of stew and listened.

'Lord Menulis is back,' said Cardock.

'The rider?' said Freyja.

'Yeah. Just for two days. He was on his way somewhere else and decided to stay here for a rest, I heard. It's been a while since we've had a rider here.'

Freyja ran her fingers through her hair. 'Isn't he the one…?'

'Yes,' said Cardock, glancing at Galbatorix.

'Which one?' said Galbatorix.

'Menulis entrusted you to us,' Freyja explained.

'Oh,' said Galbatorix, staring at the tabletop. But though his face was expressionless he was thinking deeply. A rider was in Teirm. This one had been kind enough to give him a home. Riders were known far and wide as dispensers of justice… so perhaps he could ask for help. It had to be worth a try.

Not many people would have even considered going and demanding an audience with a rider, let alone going through with it, but Galbatorix did just that next morning. He put on his best tunic and trousers, and a new pair of boots which he'd stitched himself, and set out for the palace. Once a king had lived there, but now it was the seat of the local government, appointed and managed by the riders. Galbatorix went straight to the front door, which was attended by two guards. They looked at him suspiciously, but said nothing.

'Excuse me,' said Galbatorix. 'But I heard that there was a rider in the Palace. I would like to ask for an audience with him.'

'Go away,' said one of the guards.

'I have something important to ask him about,' said Galbatorix.

'I'm not going to warn you again, kid,' said the guard.

Galbatorix fixed the man with his coldest stare. 'The riders are supposed to dispense justice. I want to ask this one for some, and if he isn't interested in helping people who need it then he may as well be just another tyrant.'

The guard thumped him in the stomach with his spear-butt. Galbatorix doubled over, wheezing, and both guards sniggered at him. 'Now get lost,' the other one said.

Galbatorix could take a hint. He stalked off into the city, nursing his bruised stomach and wounded pride, and headed off to the markets. He joined Cardock at the stall, and calmly sold a purse to a passing lady.

'Hello,' said Cardock. 'Where've you been this time?'

Galbatorix said nothing.

'Fine, be that way,' said Cardock. 'Listen, lad, I think it's about time you started thinking about what you're going to do with your life. You can't keep skulking around the place and getting into fights with people. Don't you have an ambition? You can't stay here working at the leather stall until you're an old man, so what is it you'd prefer to do? You're a bright kid, Arren. There's all sorts of things you could do, but you won't get anywhere without an ambition. So are you in a talking mood today, or what?'

'I want to be a rider,' said Galbatorix.

Cardock coughed. 'What? No, just hang on a moment there, son. You can't do that.'

'I can,' said Galbatorix.

'Look, Arren-,'

'-Galbatorix.'

'Whatever. You can't be a rider.'

'Why not?'

'Because riders are…' Cardock paused, searching for inspiration. 'Well, they're special. They don't let just anyone join them.'

'You mean they don't let bastard half-breeds join them,' said Galbatorix, sending a deadly glare in the direction of a small child who was gawping at him.

'That's not what I meant,' Cardock said sharply. 'And you know it.'

'But it's what you're thinking,' said Galbatorix. 'Don't lie to me, _Father_. I don't care what anyone says; I'm going to go the Palace when they examine the candidates, and I'm going to pass the tests. Is that ambitious enough for you?'

'Too ambitious, if you ask me,' said Cardock. 'But if you really want to try it, I suppose I can't stop you.'

'Lord Yansan the rider elder started out as a stableboy,' said Galbatorix. 'Social status has nothing to do with it.'

'No, but…' Cardock trailed off helplessly. The truth was that he didn't know exactly what basis candidates were selected on.

Galbatorix did. 'It's about qualities,' he said. 'They look for intelligence, strength, fighting ability and good morals. After that it's up to the dragons.'

Cardock sighed. 'Well, you have those qualities, so I suppose there's no harm in trying.'

Galbatorix said nothing. He wasn't sure exactly when he had come up with the idea, but it had taken hold of him. If he became a rider, it would mean becoming powerful. Very powerful. And he knew exactly what he would use that power for.


	3. The Trials

Chapter Three

The Trials

The Riders' Trials, as they were called, were a yearly event. On the first day of spring in every city, young adults of both sexes were free to gather at an appointed government building in their home town and ask for a chance to face the trials. These were a series of tests designed to demonstrate each candidate's qualities. But not many people ever went. The trials were hard, and the competition extremely tough. Only one or two candidates would actually be chosen – and it was more common for one to be chosen than two. Even passing the trials and being given that great opportunity to handle the dragon eggs didn't mean becoming a rider. Plenty of candidates would make it that far, only to be rejected by the dragon hatchlings inside those eggs. In the end, out of hundreds of hopefuls, only a handful would ever become riders. It meant that quite a few people never even bothered to apply in the first place. Most young people had already chosen a path in life by that stage, and it was those who hadn't done so that went to try their luck. They were the poverty-stricken, the orphans, the dreamers and, of course, the supremely ambitious. And in spite of all the odds against him, Galbatorix determined that he would join them. He knew that he was strong and fast, and intelligent as well. It had to be worth a try.

So when the day came, months later, he took his leave of his foster parents and made his way to the Palace. There was a gate around the back, and a group of about ten other young people had gathered there. He went to stand unobtrusively at the back of the group, and listened to them all chattering amongst themselves until the gate opened and someone appeared on the other side. It was a tall, stocky woman clad in green with a weird green-bladed sword strapped to her back. Her hair was brown and she wore it in a ponytail, and she had a rough, honest face with green eyes that matched her outfit rather nicely.

The group of candidates went quiet, and stood watching the green-clad woman with respectful expressions. She regarded them for a few moments, and then said; 'I assume you're all here for the trials?'

They nodded or murmured their assent.

'Good,' said the woman. 'Anyone who isn't here for the trials, go away. The rest of you, come with me.'

A few people who had gathered to watch wandered off, some pausing to wish good luck on friends or family members who were among the candidates. The candidates followed the green-clad woman through the gate, which closed behind them, and she led them through a short passage and into the open air of a large courtyard. A quick glance around at the courtyard revealed that it was a training-yard for guards and other fighters – the ground was packed soil with only a few sad clumps of grass on it, and there was a row of archery butts against one wall and a number of wooden dummies which were covered in sword-cuts. But there was something else in the yard which rendered all that very uninteresting indeed. The candidates stopped dead in the entrance, staring at it in wonder.

It was a dragon. The dragon was about three times the size of a horse, and sat in the middle of the yard with its short, powerful legs gathered beneath it as if in readiness to pounce. Its back was hunched, its tail curled around it and its head raised like a swan's with the neck in an elegant s-shape. Its wings were folded neatly on its back, spiked joints pointing forward, the delicate membranes crumpled between the vanes. The dragon's scales were bright green, its talons ivory white, and its eyes rich gold and disconcertingly intelligent. There was an air of great power and majesty around it as it moved its horn-crowned head forward a little to look at the candidates.

The green-clad woman went to stand by the dragon's shoulder, resting her hand on its scales. They looked utterly relaxed and comfortable in each others' presence.

'Don't be shy,' the woman said. 'If you're afraid of dragons, you won't make very good riders, now will you?'

The candidates obeyed, some of them letting out a few nervous chuckles. Galbatorix, keen to make a good impression straight away, came to the front and stood fearlessly right under the dragon's snout. The dragon glanced down at him, and he bowed respectfully to it.

'That's right,' said the woman, a note of approval in her voice. 'Now then. My name is Carina and this is my partner, Leaf. We'll be testing each of you to find out whether you have the potential to be riders. Now, I should warn you that these tests are not for the faint of heart. If you're not completely committed to this ambition of becoming a rider, then I suggest you leave right now.'

No-one, of course, left.

'Very well,' said Carina, who had probably been expecting that. 'To begin with, I'd like you to introduce yourselves. Give me your names, tell me where you come from and why you think you want to become a rider. And be honest.' She nodded at Galbatorix. 'You first. Start with your name.'

'Arren.' That was a lie, in his mind at least. But he didn't want to risk exposing his secret again, and if the riders knew him by any name it definitely wouldn't be Arren. It was far too common a name to be recognised. 'I'm from Teirm,' he went on. 'And I want to be a rider because I want to try and make things better for people.'

'And how do you propose to do that?' asked Carina, fixing him with a keen gaze.

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Influence in the right place can have a powerful effect. If you know how to use it.'

Carina nodded and turned to the boy next to him. 'And now you. What's your name?'

This went on until every candidate had introduced him or herself. Fortunately, although Galbatorix knew a few of them by sight, none of them were likely to know what he was. He had a very strong suspicion that if the rider found out about that he would be immediately disqualified.

Once the introductions were over with, Carina said; 'The first few trials are the easiest. We will be testing your aptitude with weapons and combat, so they will only test you physically. Now go to the crate by the wall over there and take a practise sword.'

The candidates obeyed. The practise swords were wooden, but still quite heavy, and Galbatorix guessed they had metal inside them to weigh them down. He hefted the one he'd taken, testing it. The weapon felt natural in his hand, and he took that as a good sign. They returned to stand in front of Carina, who said; 'I suggest you prepare to be hurt.'

The gate behind them swung open, and as the candidates turned around to see what was going on there was a harsh shout and a dozen armed men came charging into the yard. Without pausing, they attacked. Instinctively the candidates bunched together, raising the useless practise swords to defend themselves. But the attackers wouldn't allow them to do that. They charged straight into the group, driving them apart and then attacking them separately. Before he knew what was happening, Galbatorix found himself backed up against a wall, trying desperately to block a swordblade which was being swung hard and fast toward his face. Even as he started to fight back as best he could, he realised that the other man's blade was wooden.

But regardless of that, his assailant didn't hesitate. He gave Galbatorix no room or time to pull himself together, and launched a merciless assault on him, his wooden sword lashing back and forth, landing painful blows on him right and left. Galbatorix gritted his teeth and pushed forward with all his might, using the wall behind him for leverage. The man, who was a lot heavier than he was, took a few steps backward. Galbatorix took advantage of it straight away. Now he had room to use his own sword, and he did. Not knowing any of the proper techniques, he swung it wildly toward the man's head. The blow wasn't just blocked – the sword was knocked out of his hands altogether. Galbatorix dived for it, taking the man by surprise. Catching it by the hilt, he sprang upright again and resumed his attack as the man turned to face him. But he quickly found himself out-classed. The man was obviously a trained swordsman, and before Galbatorix had managed to do more than land a couple of glancing blows on him he found himself disarmed and then knocked over. The next thing he knew he was flat on his back, the tip of the wooden sword resting in the hollow at the base of his throat.

'Yield,' said the man.

Galbatorix glanced around quickly. All the other candidates had been disarmed and were being held at sword-point by now. Carina and Leaf were looking on in apparent amusement.

'Yield,' the man said again.

Galbatorix's eyes narrowed. He grabbed hold of the sword-blade and wrenched it sideways. The man, taken by surprise, lost hold of it. Galbatorix scrambled to his feet and went for him. Now that he was unarmed, the fight was equal. The man tried to retrieve the wooden sword, but Galbatorix stood between him and it and threw a punch at him. It connected, and the two of them began to fight hand-to-hand. Now the odds had changed. Galbatorix had never learnt even the basics of swordplay, but after so many fights in the street he had learnt a thing or two about fighting with his fists and it soon became plain that the man, however skilled he might be with a sword, had no training in that area. Now that he had the opportunity to use his innate speed and strength, Galbatorix easily avoided his opponent's kicks and punches. He aimed his own blows at the man's head, intending to distract him. It worked, and, grabbing hold of the man's arm, he kicked his legs out from beneath him and then pinned him down with a boot on his neck.

'Yield,' he said.

'Let him up,' said a voice from behind him. Galbatorix looked up and realised that all the other candidates were staring at him. Carina was there, and it was she who had spoken. Galbatorix removed his boot from the man's neck, and helped him up. The man stood, massaging his throat. 'Good job there, lad,' he said. 'Not sure what _she'll_ think of it, mind.'

Galbatorix stood there nervously, not liking all the eyes turned toward him. 'Did I do something wrong?' he asked Carina.

Carina regarded him for a moment, then turned away to face the other candidates. 'I'm sorry to tell you,' she said, 'That this boy here is the only one to have passed the first trial. It was intended to test your fighting skills and how well you respond in a crisis. And – what was your name again? – Arren here displayed the skills a rider needs. Strength, agility, good reflexes and the ability to improvise at short notice. I have to say I've not seen such a candidate do as well as he did. Well done.'

Galbatorix smiled bashfully, and the other candidates either applauded or glared at him.

'However,' Carina went on, 'This isn't the end, and you shouldn't think you've been disqualified already. There are riders who aren't so skilled at fighting, and if any of you are chosen you'll receive training in these things. You men can leave now.' She nodded to the soldiers who had provided the simulated attack, who gathered up the practise swords from the ground and made an exit. 'Now then,' said Carina. 'We're ready for the next task. If anyone got hurt during the first one, come to me and I'll heal you.'

Two candidates came forward with sprains and minor cuts, and Carina healed them with a few muttered words. Galbatorix, standing near here, was thrilled to see that. He had heard that riders could use magic, and here was the proof. If he was chosen…

The next trial began. This one tested their endurance, as they had to carry and stack heavy logs and stones until they were too tired to carry on. Galbatorix was reasonably fit from the fetching and carrying he had to do as part of his old job, but he was light and slim and found this task quite taxing. But he kept on for as long as he could, gritting his teeth and ignoring the strain in his arms. By the time he decided he could take no more, over half the other candidates had given up. Deciding that he'd done enough, he walked somewhat unsteadily over to the wall and sat down with the others who'd retired. He was utterly exhausted, and was more than happy to watch the remaining candidates work on. When Carina eventually called a halt to the trial, only two of the strongest candidates were left.

'These two have passed with flying colours,' she said. 'As have all those who managed to continue until the halfway mark. But endurance, of course, is only a small part of what you will need to become one of us. We have tested you physically… now it is time to test your minds. Now… can all of you read and write?'

Most of the candidates nodded.

'If you can't,' said Carina, 'That's nothing to be ashamed of. All apprentice riders receive training in that area. Those of you who can read will read these scrolls and write answers to the questions on them. The rest will go inside where they will be separated and take the test aurally.'

Galbatorix took one of the scrolls which she passed out, along with a stick of charcoal. The group of illiterate candidates were shown a door leading to the Palace's interior and vanished through it, while their more educated peers settled down in the yard, charcoal sticks at the ready.

Galbatorix examined his own scroll. It had a long list of questions on it, and he set about answering them as best he could. The first one was _What is your name?_ He hesitated over that one, and eventually wrote _Arren Cardockson of Teirm._

After that the real questions began. And they weren't all what he had expected. Such as; _If you could do anything at all, what would it be?_ For that one he answered; _I would end prejudice and bring about equality and justice for all._ Then there was; _When you enter a room you've never been in before, what do you notice first,_ and even _What is your favourite colour? _He answered them all, taking his time to think each one over, even the one asking what his favourite colour was. There were questions to test logic, analytical skills, mathematics, political sense and even business management. Galbatorix had to delve deep into his mind to answer some of them, and he found himself enjoying the challenge.

When he'd finished he handed the scroll back to Carina who, once she'd gathered them all, packed them away into a box and handed them to a servant who'd come into the yard for just that purpose. He took them away, and once the candidates who'd gone inside returned it was time for the next trial.

'This trial,' said Carina, 'Is intended to test your kindness and compassion, which are both things vital to a rider. Even the most powerful rider must have a warm heart.' The door behind her opened, and a servant came through it, leading a group of small children. At Carina's command the candidates came forward and each took charge of a child while the servant departed. Galbatorix's child was a girl, and she went with him readily enough, all innocent and sweet.

'Now you must care for these children,' said Carina. 'And keep them safe.'

Leaf came forward from where he had been standing just behind her. He lowered his head and roared. Every candidate in the yard cringed. The children burst into tears. Galbatorix lifted his into his arms, hugging her protectively. 'It's all right, it's all right,' he told her, though he kept glancing warily at Leaf. The green dragon moved back, blinking serenely. Every candidate suddenly found him or herself having to contend with a frightened child, and not all of them were ready for the challenge. Galbatorix's child bawled at the top of her lungs, putting her arms around his neck and holding onto him. He did his best to comfort her, in spite of his inexperience with children, and she eventually calmed down. When she had, he took a few steps toward Leaf. 'How dare you do that?' he demanded. 'She's just a baby; you scared her out of her mind, you brute.'

Leaf bared his teeth and growled deep in his throat, but Galbatorix didn't back down. He held his ground and glared at the dragon. Several other candidates did the same.

'Good,' said Carina, suddenly leaping in and taking Galbatorix by surprise. 'The trial is over. You may let the children go.'

Galbatorix put his down obediently, but said; 'Shouldn't I hold onto her a bit longer? She's very nervous.'

'I'm fine, thankyou,' said the child.

Galbatorix started. He looked down at the child, and saw her grinning at him. Some of the other children laughed, and he heard his fellow candidates exclaiming in surprise.

He crouched to speak to his own child. 'You're not human, are you?' he said.

The child shook her head. 'No. You're clever, aren't you?'

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'I'd like to think so.'

'Well done, Arren,' said Carina from somewhere above him. He looked up and saw her watching him. 'You're correct,' she said more loudly, so that the other candidates could hear. 'These are dwarfish children of about twelve years old. They kindly agreed to play at being much younger human children, and I assure you they're not afraid of Leaf. They were introduced to him yesterday so that they'd get used to him.'

The children came forward, abandoning the astonished candidates, and gathered around Leaf's forelegs, giggling and prodding at his scales with their tiny fingers. Now that Galbatorix had the chance to look at them properly, he realised their proportions were completely wrong for humans. Tricked again. He stood up and listened as Carina spoke on. She indicated him. 'You did well on this one, Arren. Most of you did quite well, but Arren here went a step further. He didn't just comfort his child; he also confronted what had scared her and showed he wasn't afraid of it. Courage in the name of helping another is an admirable thing. Again, well done. And well done to those who went to stand beside him. You all did very well. And now…' she paused. 'On to the final and hardest trial of all.'

The candidates exchanged nervous glances. They were all worn out and strained by what had happened in the trials so far, and if this last one was going to be even harder… Galbatorix, however, stood up a little straighter. He was feeling a lot more confident now. He'd gotten through every trial so far without making any serious blunders, and been singled out for praise twice. On the whole, things were going very well. And now it was nearly over. He was determined that this last task, whatever it was, wouldn't be the one to trip him up. Not now when he was so close.

Carina nodded. 'Be prepared,' she said. 'This last trial is very dangerous. In the past, candidates have been killed by it. Others have been seriously wounded. In taking on the final trial, you acknowledge the fact that you want to be a rider badly enough that you will risk your life for it. Anyone who refuses to attempt it will be automatically disqualified and told to go home. Now… knowing all this, are you still willing to try it?'

The candidates all nodded, though with some trepidation. Even Galbatorix couldn't help but feel apprehensive after this speech, but he was on the alert for another trick.

Carina nodded. 'Very well then.'

Leaf raised one big forepaw and thumped it on the ground, twice. Moments later, the large gate which the candidates had originally entered by opened. A gang of powerfully built men came through it, hauling a huge crate between them on a series of rollers. The crate was roughly square in shape, and had been draped in cloth. Deep, rumbling growls and snarls were coming from inside, and every now and then the entire thing would shake dangerously from side to side. The men moving it let it slide off the rollers and onto the dirt, which it did with a loud thud. A couple of them hurried around the back to carry away the rollers, and the rest removed the sacking from the crate.

Every one of the candidates took a step backward. Even Leaf and Carina looked wary. The crate was a large iron cage. And inside it was a dragon. It was nearly as large as Leaf, but its scales were a violent shade of red. The rest of it was just as violent. Unlike Leaf this dragon was not tranquil but enraged. It hurled itself against the bars of its cage, roaring, its teeth bared. On seeing the assembled candidates, it spat bright orange flames at them, causing them to leap out of the way.

'Now then!' Carina shouted over the racket, as the porters made a hasty exit and slammed the gates behind them. 'This dragon not bonded to a rider; she is wild. She was trapped in the Spine a few days ago, and brought here against her will. She is very angry and frightened, and she will kill in order to regain her freedom. And she is your final trial. You must approach her in turn, and try and calm her down. If you balk at this, if you run away, if you succumb to fear, you will fail the trial.'

The candidates let out cries of horror. 'No!' one cried. 'You must be out of your mind!' another one protested.

'I haven't finished yet,' said Carina, who no doubt had been expecting something like this. '"Out of your mind", indeed. As it happens, the mind is exactly what you will have to use here. Leaf…'

She fell silent, and Leaf took her place. He raised his head, fixing the candidates with his golden gaze. And then, quite suddenly, Galbatorix heard a voice in his head.

'_Greetings,'_ it said. _'I know you can all hear me. As a dragon I am capable of using conventional speech, but to communicate through the mind is a far more subtle and refined thing and the vast majority of dragons prefer to use it. All sentient creatures have the ability to speak in this way, but few ever learn how. If you become riders, you will become accustomed to it. You and your partner will rarely speak to each other in any other way. Now I will teach you how to reach into another's mind, just as I am reaching into yours now. If you can master it, you will be able to reach into the wild dragon's mind and tell her that you are a friend.'_

The voice, Leaf's voice, paused to let the candidates take all this in. Then it resumed.

'_To reach into a mind is quite simple. And if you are not used to it, it helps to make eye-contact first. Then focus on the mind that is your target. Imagine yourself wrapping around it, absorbing it; drink in that mind's essence. And then concentrate as hard as you can. If you encounter resistance, don't fight it. Probe gently. To break into another's mind is a violation more heinous than rape, and must only be done under extreme circumstances. Now, once you have entered the wild dragon's mind, summon up feelings of calmness and stillness. Let her feel them. If you are successful, she will respond with calmness of her own and you will be out of danger. And now… go.'_

The presence of the green dragon withdrew.

Carina signalled the one of the candidates. 'You first,' she said.

The candidate, a brown-haired girl, began to approach the cage and its savage occupant with slow, halting steps. The red dragon watched her approach through wide, maddened orange eyes. The candidate stopped when she was close to the cage, and made eye-contact with its occupant. Several seconds passed, and then the dragon hurled herself at the bars separating them. She thrust a paw between two of them, and lashed out at the candidate, catching her on the arm with a talon and knocking her down. The candidate screamed and scrambled out of reach, her arm dripping blood. Carina ran to help her, and once she was safe and had had the healing spell said over her the rider said; 'Next!'

The remaining candidates glanced at each other – was she really expecting them to try it after what had happened to the first one? Yes, she was. Eventually one of them plucked up courage and went forward. He, too, was attacked and had to retire. So was the third. And all the while the red dragon became more and more aggressive. Some of the candidates got her to calm down for a short while, but none got close enough to touch her and only one or two escaped uninjured. Galbatorix waited for his turn, his tension mounting unbearably. Still, he was not called upon. And, with the second-to-last candidate, disaster struck. When this one came forward, the red dragon belched flames at him before he'd gone more than a few paces. He screamed, and the other candidates had to avert their eyes in horror as the poor unfortunate was enveloped. Leaf himself leapt forward, throwing himself in the way and blocking the flames with his body while Carina ran to the collapsed teenager's side. She spoke the healing spell as fast as she could. It worked. But everyone there knew that if it had been delayed by even a minute or two then the boy would have died. He got up, trembling in fright, and was helped away by Carina while Leaf did his best to subdue the wild dragon, ignoring the scorched scales on his flank.

Carina led the shivering candidate back to his fellows, who gathered around, all concerned. She gave him a flask of wine to drink, saying; 'It's all right, here, drink this. The rest of you… this trial is over.'

'Wait,' said Galbatorix. Everyone turned to look at him, and he said; 'I haven't tried it yet.'

'I know,' said Carina. 'You won't be doing this trial. The dragon has obviously passed beyond the stage where telepathy can calm her. I'm not risking it.'

'Does that mean I'm disqualified?'

Carina hesitated. 'Yes. I'm sorry.'

'But that's not fair!'

'I'm sorry,' said Carina again. 'I know it's not your fault, but the rules are absolute.'

Galbatorix stared at her, thunderstruck. Just like that, his one chance was gone. It was forbidden to stand trial more than once. But rage and determination quickly followed astonishment. Before he knew what he was doing, he strode toward Leaf.

'Move,' he said, and to his surprise Leaf found himself doing just that. The green dragon stood aside, and Galbatorix went straight toward the growling red dragon.

'Stop, you idiot!' Carina shouted.

Galbatorix ignored her. He continued on, making eye-contact with the dragon as he did so, jet black to flame-orange. He concentrated on reaching into her mind, just as Leaf had described. He found himself strangely calm as he did so, as if he'd done this a million times before. It worked, and he began to probe gently at the dragon's consciousness. He encountered fierce resistance, but he absorbed the dragon's anger and sent back his own calmness and, after a few minutes of mental wrestling, she relaxed and let him in.

It was the most incredible thing he had ever felt in his life. Suddenly he found his mind expanding, spreading out to touch everything around him. And that included the mind of the dragon, which was a red, bunched mass of boiling emotions. He reached out to touch it. And that was when he found his own mental voice.

He said; _'Don't be afraid.'_

The red dragon's reply was instantaneous. _'I fear nothing!'_ her voice roared.

He was wrenched back into the physical realm by pain, and found himself lying on his back in front of the cage, his tunic torn. There were two deep gashes on his chest, both bleeding profusely, and he realised dully that the dragon had attacked him.

'That's enough,' said Carina from behind him. 'Get back here, now.'

Galbatorix struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain. He reached out into the dragon's mind again, closing his ears to Carina's shouts. _'I can't hurt you,'_ he said. _'I want to help you.'_

'_Liar,'_ the dragon growled, rearing up as far as the cage would allow her. _'You're going to kill me.'_

'_No,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I want to help. I am a friend. My name is… Galbatorix. What's yours?'_

'_I am Illia,'_ said the dragon, calming down a little. _'You'll help me?'_

'_Yes. I'll help you, Illia.'_

'_Then set me free,'_ the dragon said. _'Let me out of this prison.'_

Galbatorix hesitated. He had little doubt about the havoc which the dragon could create if she got out of the cage. But, touching her mind as he was, he could feel her fear and her longing to be free. And that suddenly woke a powerful anger in him. It was disgusting that anyone would dare to cage a wild and proud creature like this, and to use her as a tool. _'All right,'_ he told her recklessly. _'I'll let you out. If you promise not to attack us.'_

The red dragon radiated contempt. _'Once you have let me out, I will leave you unharmed. But these others…'_

'_No,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Don't do that. Just fly away, Illia.'_

The red dragon snarled out loud. _'Give me a reason, human.'_

Galbatorix hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then said; _'Because there's a rider here. Riders have powerful magic. They trapped you in the first place, didn't they?'_

'_Yes. Cowards and scum.'_

'_If you don't fly away as soon as you can, the rider might kill you,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_I'm not afraid of death.'_

'_Of course not. But it's beneath your dignity to kill these other humans. They're tiny and weak. They wouldn't stand a chance. It would be a waste of time. And if you attacked the rider she could kill you… and then you'd lose your freedom forever.'_

Illia paused. He could sense her thinking it over. At last she said; _'Very well. If you will set me free, I will leave and not fight.'_

'_Thankyou,'_ said Galbatorix. He approached the cage.

'Stop!' Carina shouted from behind him. 'What are you doing? Stop it!'

Galbatorix glanced back at her. She was standing there by Leaf's side, evidently reluctant to come closer and forcibly drag him away from the cage lest they both be attacked. The other candidates were watching with shocked expressions. As for Leaf, he appeared much more relaxed. As if he knew what was happening and accepted it.

Galbatorix said nothing. He went to the cage and wrenched out the thick metal pins which held one wall in place. Carina, realising what he was doing, ran to stop him. But before she reached him he removed the last one, and moved out of the way as the cage wall thumped onto the ground. Carina dodged around the cage and grabbed him by the shoulder, shouting; 'You fool! What have you done?'

Too late. The cage had been opened, and Illia thrust her way out of it, her wings unfolding as soon as she was in the open. The candidates ran for it, taking shelter in the doorway which led into the Palace. But they went no further. They stayed where they were, watching. None of them wanted to miss what happened next.

Illia raised her head, stretching her neck and arching her spine. She flapped her wings once or twice, and then turned to face Galbatorix and Carina. The rider was still holding onto her charge, and she muttered; 'Don't make any sudden moves.'

Galbatorix pulled away from her, and she made a grab for his shoulder. Illia acted immediately. She darted forward and batted Carina out of the way, knocking her violently to the ground. Leaf roared and ran to help her, but the red dragon pinned Carina to the ground, threatening her with her talons even while she stood protectively over Galbatorix, who stayed by her other foreleg. She looked down at him. _'Shall I kill her, little friend?'_ she asked, projecting her thoughts to all those present.

'No,' said Galbatorix out loud. He went to Carina and tried to lift the dragon's claws off her. 'Let her go. You promised me, Illia.'

Illia looked irritable, but she removed her paw and let Carina go. _'Since you insisted,' _she said. _'Thankyou.'_

'Goodbye,' said Galbatorix.

Illia nodded and spread her wings. Then she flew away, taking to the air with a powerful thrust of her legs on the ground and her wings at the air. Leaf made no attempt to go after her. He went straight to his rider's side, and Illia flew up away from the Palace and the city and was gone in moments. Galbatorix went to Carina. 'Are you all right?' he asked her.

Carina sat up, wincing slightly. 'I'm fine,' she said, fending off Leaf's snout. 'Let me up, Leaf.' She stood up and dusted herself down. 'No harm done.'

Then she turned to Galbatorix. He looked back at her. He was not afraid any more, not even when the other candidates gathered around, all talking at once. He didn't care if he'd just failed the trial. There was a wonderful sense of power and certainty in him that hadn't been there before, and he knew in his soul that he had done the right thing.

Carina, looking around at the other candidates, appeared to reach a decision. 'The trials are over,' she announced. 'You are all free to go. Those of you who are selected will receive a message by this time next week. You have all done well, and even if you are not chosen you should still take pride in what you have accomplished. Now go. You will each receive a small gift on the way out.'

The candidates shuffled out. Galbatorix tried to go with them, but Carina said; 'Not you, Arren. You stay behind. I want a word with you.'

Galbatorix returned to her side and watched the other candidates leave, aware of their sympathetic glances toward him.

'Now,' said Carina once they had all gone. 'You have five minutes to explain exactly what you just did.'


	4. The Egg Guardian

Chapter Four

The Egg-Guardian

Two days later, a group of riders met in Ilirea, the white, towered city that was their capital. Among them was Yansan the elder, who was a member of the council of elders that led the riders. The others were younger riders, recently returned from the various cities where they had supervised the trials. Carina was among them, with Leaf standing behind her like a second shadow. Every one of the riders carried a sheaf of papers – written reports describing each of the candidates they had tested. One by one they read these reports aloud for Yansan's benefit, and he would select one or two from each group that interested him. Those not named were put aside. When it was Carina's turn, she kept one report till last. Before reading it, she said; 'Now, this last candidate was very, very interesting.'

'Was that the one who let the wild dragon out?' the rider next to her asked.

Carina nodded. 'His name is Arren Cardockson. He's very talented indeed. In fact, disturbingly so.'

'Explain,' said Yansan. Behind him his partner, the brown dragon with the unpronounceable name of Raluvimbha, raised her head to listen.

Carina straightened out the piece of parchment, and read it. 'Uh, let me see here… fighting skills, very impressive. He was the only candidate who managed to get the better of his opponent. His hand-to-hand combat is quite good. Doubtless once he's had training, I mean, _if_ he has training, he'll prove talented with a sword. Endurance is also good. He gave intelligent and insightful answers to the written exam; not a bad mind at all. He passed the compassion test with flying colours – showed concern, was gentle and also confronted Leaf for scaring the child.'

'_He showed no fear of me,'_ Leaf put in.

The other riders murmured, impressed.

'How did he go on the final trial?' Yansan enquired.

'Ah. The final trial,' said Carina. 'That was where he really impressed me. His innate psychic abilities were… astonishingly well-developed. He managed to form a mental link with the dragon almost instantly. And he managed to calm her down and win her trust, and this was after she'd attacked him and nearly killed the previous candidate.'

'And then he let her out of the cage,' another rider finished.

'Yes,' said Carina. 'I questioned him carefully afterwards, and he told me that she asked him to do it.'

'So he released a wild dragon in a foul temper?' the rider next to her said. 'The boy is an idiot.'

'That's what I thought,' said Carina. 'But that doesn't measure up to the intelligence he displayed earlier. He was impulsive, certainly, but he told me he made the dragon promise not to attack before he let her out. And I know he was telling the truth, because when I tried to interfere she threatened to kill me and would have done it if he hadn't stopped her. He told her to let me go because she'd promised him that she would, and she did as he asked. We let her go, and she left peacefully.'

Several of the other riders exclaimed out loud. 'You mean he managed to control a wild dragon?' one said. 'How big was it?'

'Nearly as big as Leaf,' said Carina. 'Yes, he controlled her. He has a very impressive way with words, and though he's a quiet sort he has a lot of natural authority when he wants to.'

She had said her piece and, falling silent, waited for Yansan to speak.

The other rider looked thoughtful. 'So what is your judgement, Carina?'

'I think we should accept him,' she answered at once. 'The boy is a natural. I wouldn't be surprised if he became an elder one day.'

Several other riders nodded. Yansan frowned. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Talent that great can be dangerous. If we accept him and he becomes one of us, he will need… we will have to provide him with a lot of guidance. Carina, do you feel able to do this?'

Carina started. 'But Lord Yansan… I am not an elder.'

'No,' said Yansan. 'But you will still be called upon to provide advice to the new apprentices and act as an emotional support for them. And if you decide to vouch for this boy and he is accepted, it will be your duty to do this for him.'

Carina nodded. 'I'll accept the responsibility, Lord.'

'Then we will accept him,' said Yansan.

A week after the trials, Galbatorix sat out the front of his home and scratched at the bandage on his chest. He'd refused to let Carina heal the tears left by Illia's claws. He wanted them to heal naturally. He knew that this would leave him scarred for life, but that was what he wanted. Not many people had been scarred by a dragon, and he wanted to keep these as proof. Even if he never became a rider, he would be able to show them to his grandchildren. He would also be able to show them the gift he'd been given before leaving the Palace. It was a small amulet in the shape of a dragon with its wings spread. It was made of cheap iron rather than silver, and the glass jewel set into it had fallen out almost immediately, leaving the dragon with a hollow socket in place of an eye, but he'd strung it on a piece of leather thong and was wearing it even now. Most likely it would be the only thing he'd get from the riders. He hadn't forgotten the stern looks Carina had given him, and her warnings about how dangerously he'd behaved. For a while he'd deluded himself that he could, after all, be chosen, but by now he'd shed that illusion. It wasn't a good feeling to know that he'd lost the best chance he'd ever be likely to have. Now that he was doomed to be powerless all his life, what could he do? Move away, most likely. Go somewhere where no-one knew him and start a new life. And he wouldn't talk about the past. But sometimes, perhaps, he would tell people about how he almost became a rider. He'd show them the scars and the amulet, and they'd be impressed and ask questions. It would be the only respect he ever got, most likely.

As if in order to prove him embarrassingly wrong, it was at that very moment that he saw someone coming toward him. It wasn't anyone he recognised or was particularly curious to see. It was a middle-aged man, plainly dressed and carrying a scroll of paper in his hand. The man came toward him from off the street, and Galbatorix stood up to meet him.

'Excuse me,' said the man. 'I'm looking for…' he glanced at the scroll. '…someone called Arren Cardockson.'

'That's me,' said Galbatorix.

'Ah. Good,' said the man. 'This is for you.' He held out the scroll.

Galbatorix took it and unrolled it without much interest. The writing on it was neat and ornamented, and he had a little trouble making out the words. He read it. Then he read it again. He read it a third time, still not quite sure of what he'd read. But the words were the same every time he read them.

_To Arren Cardockson of Teirm. This is to inform you that you have been selected to go to Ellesméra in two days time where you will be given the opportunity to handle the dragon eggs and possibly find your partner among them. Come to the Palace at dawn on the Day of the Finding of the First Egg, and be prepared for a long journey. Your means of travelling will be provided, along with provisions. _**_Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass_**

Underneath that was a picture of a dragon with outspread wings – the emblem of the riders. Galbatorix stared blankly at it for some time, and then ran inside.

Two days later Galbatorix packed a bag with his few worldly possessions – mostly clothes – said goodbye to his foster parents and left home forever. He went to the Palace at dawn on the Day of the Finding of the First Egg, also known as Finding Day, which was a day named in honour of when the first rider, Eragon, found a dragon egg. Two weeks later there would be the Day of the First Hatching, which was a day set aside for celebrations and feasting. On reaching the Palace and being met by Carina herself, he discovered that he had been the only candidate selected.

'Surprised?' Carina asked him warmly.

'Yes,' he admitted.

'Don't be,' said Carina. 'You did magnificently well at the trials. Lord Yansan was very impressed by my report.'

'Lord Yansan saw it?' said Galbatorix, taken aback.

'But of course,' said Carina. 'One of the elders always goes over the reports before we pick the candidates. They have to be approved first, you see. Now, then, have you got all your things together?'

Galbatorix nodded, stifling a yawn.

'Didn't sleep last night?' said Carina.

Galbatorix shook his head.

'Not to worry; you'll get plenty of time to rest during the trip,' said Carina. 'Come with me.'

She led him through the Palace and through a back door into a private section of street. A large wagon was standing ready, two horses harnessed to it, and a group of twenty well-armed mounted soldiers were waiting by it. 'These will be your escort,' said Carina, indicating them. 'They'll protect you in case of an ambush. And Leaf and I will be flying overhead. If anything happens, we'll take care of it.'

'Are you really expecting us to be attacked?' asked Galbatorix, eyeing the guards' spears and swords.

'It's unlikely,' said Carina. 'But it pays to be careful. There could be urgals about. If that happens, just do as your escort tells you. They're well-trained.'

The nearest guard nodded. 'We know what we're doing, lad,' he said. 'You can trust us.'

Galbatorix nodded and climbed into the wagon without argument. It was very comfortable inside; heaps of cushions had been put in there for him to sit on, and there was also a stack of clean blankets and plenty of food, including a barrel of apples – something very expensive and hard to come by in the city. He helped himself to one and settled down on the cushions to eat it. The journey began.

The journey to Ellesméra was a long one. For two weeks Galbatorix and his escort travelled – passing through the mountains of the Spine by following the river that flowed through it, and then setting out over the plains. They travelled via several different cities, since the main trade routes which linked them were the safest and a city meant being able to sleep under a roof for the night. The rest of the time Galbatorix would sleep in the wagon while the guards set up tents outside. They were all very polite and respectful toward him; frequently asking him if there was anything he needed, and then practically falling over themselves to provide it if there was. At first he found this embarrassing, but once he got used to it he found he rather enjoyed it. Of course, if he became a rider – _when_ he became a rider, he corrected himself – he would get this sort of treatment all the time. It would be a change from having to run errands and putting up with rude customers and being spat upon for being a bastard. Riders got respect.

He didn't see much of Carina during the journey. While they were on the move she and Leaf spent all their time in the air, and when they stopped the two of them would fly on to check the land ahead and often didn't come back until Galbatorix was already asleep. He was a little frustrated by this, since the rider and her dragon fascinated him and he kept wanting to learn more about them. He had hoped to have the chance to speak with them again, but this was denied him and they both remained distant, mysterious figures to him, flitting in and out of his life like a pair of butterflies.

He spent most of the journey reading. A stack of books had been provided for him – a couple of them were collections of short stories and poems, but most were about the dragon riders, and he read these with the most interest. He could read fairly fluently, but there hadn't been much reading material back at his old home. Mostly he'd just read accounts and orders. But now he'd discovered books and how fascinating and absorbing they could be, and he loved it. He could practically feel his mind expanding to accommodate all this new information it was taking in. It made him realise just how big a place really Alagaësia was, when he started to learn about its history. And, he determined, he would be a part of it one day. He would not fade away into obscurity. Somehow or other, he would make his mark. And one day he would be written about in books like these. It would be a glorious thing.

When the two weeks were up and the journey ended, it seemed far too soon. They entered the forest of Du Weldenvarden by a secret track, and on the evening of the Day of the First Hatching they arrived in Ellesméra.

The elvish city was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing that Galbatorix had ever seen. He jumped down from the wagon, holding his little bag of belongings in one hand, and looked around him with wonder. There were no buildings in Ellesméra. Huge trees grew everywhere in the valley, and though they initially looked ordinary a second glance revealed doors and windows set into their trunks. They hadn't been cut into the wood, either – they had a smooth, organic shape which suggested that they had, somehow, been persuaded to grow there. The trees themselves were perfectly healthy. So was all the other plant life that grew around them. Bushes, grass, flowers… all were luxuriously green, and none grew in rows. The air sparkled with golden pollen. On the lawn at the centre of the valley a long table had been set up, and plates piled high with food were laid on it. Around it people had gathered and were eating and chatting amongst themselves. Some were human. But most of them were elves. Galbatorix had never seen an elf before, and now he did he was surprised. They looked basically human, but they were taller, slimmer, more graceful and lithe. Their skin was paler, their eyes elegantly slanted and their ears pointed. Galbatorix watched them uncertainly – was this what his father had been like? He'd always imagined that his father was rougher and somehow more dangerous-looking.

His arrival didn't go unnoticed, even though there were a lot of people coming and going in the valley. When he got down out of the wagon, he suddenly found himself being greeted by four other humans of about his age. 'Hi!' one of them said. 'Welcome to Ellesméra!'

'Uh, hello,' said Galbatorix. He examined the little group. Three of them were boys, and the fourth was a girl. She, he couldn't help but notice, had long, light-brown hair, bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile. For some reason the sight of her made him feel a little nervous. She saw him looking, and smirked. He wrenched his gaze away from her and looked at the three boys without as much interest. Two of them were wearing little dragon amulets like his own, he realised. 'Are you-?' he said.

'Yep,' said one boy, nodding cheerily. 'Candidates just like you. I got here yesterday.'

'I've been here a week,' said the girl.

The boy who had nodded held out a hand. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said. 'My name's Brom.'

Galbatorix shook his hand. 'I'm – Arren.' The lie got harder to tell all the time.

The girl came forward. 'Nice to meet you, Arren,' she said. 'I'm Flell. Where're you from?'

'Teirm,' Galbatorix blurted.

'Are you the one who pulled that stunt with the dragon?' one of the other boys asked.

'Wh – you know about that?' said Galbatorix.

'Everyone does,' said Flell, smiling. 'You're famous, man.'

'Oh,' said Galbatorix. He wasn't sure what else to say.

'You must have been mad,' said Brom, but he didn't look as if he meant it. On the contrary, he looked highly impressed.

'It's no wonder they chose you,' said one of the so-far unnamed boys. He was heavily built with a square jaw, and reminded Galbatorix of Tommen. 'I'm Morzan.'

Galbatorix shook Morzan's hand, and then turned to the third boy. 'And you?' he asked.

'Berim,' the boy answered. 'I'm from Gil'ead, me. Ever been there?'

'I stopped there on the way,' said Galbatorix. 'It looked like a nice place.'

'No way,' said Berim. 'Dead boring, Gil'ead. Personally I'm hopin' to get picked this evening. Much more excitin' life, being a rider, right?'

'This evening?' said Galbatorix. 'The egg ceremony is this evening?'

'It certainly is,' said Brom. 'It's traditional for it to be today. You got here just in time.'

'Come on,' said Flell. 'Come and try the food. It's scrummy.'

Galbatorix pulled himself together. He handed his bag to one of his guards, and went with his fellow candidates to the food table. There he was more than happy to help himself to anything that looked tasty – in other words, everything except the spinach – and talk to the other partygoers. The elves made him welcome and asked his name and where he was from, and he quickly found that word of his actions in Teirm had indeed spread. Quite suddenly he found that he was a semi-celebrity – everyone he spoke to wanted to hear the full story of how he had faced down a wild dragon all on his own and with no prior training or experience. After this had happened for the third time, he came to see what he'd done in a different light. Before he'd thought of it as madness mixed with plain stupidity, but now he found out that other people regarded him as something of a hero. It was a good feeling.

Later, about an hour before the sun was due to set, a stately female elf who looked as if she was in charge announced that it was nearly time for the ceremony to begin and that the candidates should go to their appointed quarters and prepare. Galbatorix was led to the small tree-house where he would be staying, and there told to have a bath and change of clothes. His bag had already been brought in for him and placed on the bed, and he sat down next to it and took in his surroundings. The elvish house was astonishingly luxurious, especially considering that this one was only a small one for guests. The bedding was thick and soft, the walls, roof and ceiling finely-carved (or, he couldn't help but suspect, finely-_grown_), and everything was highly ornate and decorated. Galbatorix was deeply impressed. Clearly, these elves knew about the finer things in life.

There was an adjoining room next to the bed-chamber, with a deep stone-lined pit in the floor. This had been filled with hot water, and there were towels, soap and some kind of herbal shampoo. Galbatorix bathed, very glad to wash away the dirt he'd collected during the trip. For some reason, in spite of his upbringing in a grubby city, he'd always hated dirt. Evidently the elves felt the same way, since he'd never seen a bathtub actually built into a house like this. Then again, perhaps every wealthy person had one. He had no way of knowing.

Once he was clean and had wrapped himself in a towel, he opened his bag and looked through it for a decent set of clothes. But what he'd brought with him suddenly looked very plain and shabby indeed. The idea of appearing at the egg ceremony in his patched old tunic was frankly humiliating. But what choice did he have? He looked around unhappily, and noticed a door in the opposite wall. It was slightly ajar, and when he went to have a closer look he discovered it was a wardrobe. Inside were several sets of clothes, all about his size. He brightened up – this was more like it. He flicked through the clothes, looking for something that would suit him, and finally chose a set of long, elegant black robes trimmed with silver. He'd always preferred to dress in black. So he put on the robes, along with his old boots, since the soft elvish shoes provided didn't appeal to him. Fully dressed, with his hair neatly combed, he went to examine himself in the full-length mirror set into the wall. Mirrors were extremely expensive, and only the wealthy could afford them, so he'd never seen himself properly before. Now he did, he was both surprised and impressed. What he saw was a tall, skinny teenage boy with a pale, angular face. His features were pointed and intelligent, and very slightly odd. There was something in them that wasn't quite human, but he wasn't certain of just what it was. The eyes were jet-black and vaguely unsettling, and since he hadn't cut his hair in a long time it had grown down to his shoulders and looked like a mane. Clad in these finely-tailored robes, he looked bigger than he really was, and grand as well.

He admired himself in the mirror for some time before he realised he was doing it, and then turned away, feeling embarrassed. But he couldn't resist another glance or two before he finally left the house.

Outside he found the other candidates standing ready by the feasting-table. They were all wearing new and more expensive outfits, and were pale with excitement. Galbatorix went straight to Flell. She looked him up and down. 'You cleaned up nicely,' she said.

'So did you,' said Galbatorix. He paused. 'How do I look?'

'Like a giant bat,' said Flell, grinning.

'At least I don't look like a giant butterfly,' Galbatorix retorted. Somewhere inside he couldn't quite believe he was actually being teased by a girl and teasing her back. But it was true that Flell looked like a giant butterfly. She'd put on a rather nice light blue gown decorated with white and pale pink gauze and trimmed with gold.

For some reason Flell seemed to find this flattering. 'You're quite the charmer, aren't you?' she said, giggling.

'So, are you excited?' said Brom, breaking into the conversation. For some reason, Galbatorix immediately wanted to kill him.

'What?' he said, irritably.

'I said, are you excited?' said Brom. He seemed completely oblivious.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'And you?'

'Arren, I think these boots I'm wearing at the only thing keeping my feet on the ground right now,' said Brom. He had an honest, cheerful face and an easy smile.

Galbatorix grunted and turned away to speak to Flell again. But she'd started talking to Morzan. Crestfallen, he waited in silence with his fellow candidates until an elf approached them. With him were a group of other elves, all teenagers.

'Now then,' the elf said once he'd reached them. 'These are the elvish candidates, who will be participating in the egg ceremony with you. I will lead the way to the Egg-Guardian's house, but before we go I have a few things to say.'

Galbatorix and his fellow humans listened closely.

'The Egg-Guardian is very old,' the elf told them. 'Nearly as old as the riders themselves. You will therefore treat her with great respect. If you are not chosen, you will be gracious about it. Those who are chosen will stay here in Ellesméra to begin their training. The rest will be sent home and compensated for their troubles. Now, come with me.'

He walked off, and the candidates, elves and humans both, followed him. Galbatorix could feel his heart pounding, so hard he was afraid it was going to burst through his ribs. This was it.

They walked through the valley and then turned West, into the forest and uphill until they reached a high, secluded place where the trees thinned out. There was a small house there. This one was not grown into a treetrunk, but was a much more conventional thing built of stone and wood. Behind it was a grove of trees, and in front was a wide patch of bare grass dotted with flowers. The candidates were led to the front door of the house, and there the Egg-Guardian was waiting for them. She was an elf, of course, and though like all elves she had a youthful face it was plain that she was very old. There were faint lines around her eyes, and her hair was pure white and very slightly curly. She wore a green robe embroidered with gold, and around her neck was an amulet in the shape of a pair of hands cupped around an egg.

Their guide led them straight to her and then departed without a word, leaving the candidates alone with the Egg-Guardian. She looked at them for a time, apparently summing them up, and then said; 'Well now. Welcome to my home. My name is Einás Egg-Guardian, as you all know, and I am pleased to meet you. Before we begin, I would like you to give me your names. You first.' She nodded to Brom.

'My name is Brom, Egg-Guardian,' said Brom, bowing.

'Good, and you?' said Einás, turning to Morzan.

'Morzan,' said Morzan.

'And you?' said Einás, to Galbatorix.

He was going to say "Arren", of course, but in the split second between the asking of the question and his reply he suddenly found that he couldn't. 'My name is Galbatorix,' he replied without thinking.

Einás looked searchingly at him for a few seconds, her dark eyes suddenly narrowing a little. Galbatorix stared back calmly. The moment passed, and the Egg-Guardian began inviting the other candidates to give their names. Once this was done she said; 'As most of you know, my father Eragon was the first of the riders. And when he defeated the evil Taranis and his black dragon he established the riders as a force for good in the world. You are chosen to carry on that great tradition. Even if you are not bonded to a dragon today, you are still good and gifted people, for you were thought worthy of coming here today. Now I shall bring out the eggs, and be quiet and respectful, for many of them are older than you are.'

Galbatorix stared at her in amazement. Could she actually be Eragon's daughter? Of course, everyone knew elves were immortal, but if she was Eragon's daughter then she had to be about a thousand years old. The idea of it made him look on the white-haired elf with a great deal more respect. The negative mention of Taranis made him uncomfortable, even though he was already well aware of his long-dead ancestor's evil reputation. He was the only known rider in history to be bonded to a black dragon and, as Angela had said, he'd been responsible for a great deal of destruction in his time. Still, his line was greatly respected nowadays, since his daughter had married the son of King Paelis and many of their descendants had gone on to do great things. Galbatorix could take comfort from that.

Her piece said, Einás retreated into her home. She returned carrying a large wooden chest, which she placed on a low table that had been set up on the lawn. She removed the lid, and inside, nestled amongst a heap of clean straw, were the eggs. Galbatorix leant forward for a closer look, his heart pounding. The eggs were very large, larger than he'd expected. They looked like polished oval stones, each one a different colour. Green, blue, yellow, red, brown, purple, orange… every colour of the rainbow. One was metallic gold, and Galbatorix looked at this one with the most interest. If any dragon chose him, he hoped it would be the gold one. Gold dragons were among the most beautiful of all. Einás beckoned to the nearest candidate; a green-eyed female elf. The candidate came forward. 'Pick up each of the eggs in turn,' Einás told her. 'Feel them, and let them feel you. If the egg contains your dragon, it will stir and you will know it. Take your time.'

The elf nodded and picked up the nearest egg. She held it for a minute or two, apparently waiting for any hint of movement. Eventually she put it back and selected another one, and the other candidates watched as she handled each egg in turn. But none of them gave any signs of hatching, and once she had put down the last one in defeat she returned silently to her place among the other candidates. Galbatorix watched her with some sympathy, hoping like mad that the same thing wouldn't happen to him.

'Next,' said Einás.

Another elf came forward. He tried three eggs, none of which hatched, and then picked up the gold one. After he had held it for a few seconds, his expression changed. 'It moved!' he cried. 'Einás, it moved!'

'Wonderful!' said the Egg-Guardian. 'Congratulations, you've been chosen. Sit with the egg and wait for it to hatch. We shall watch.'

Galbatorix looked on as the other candidate obeyed, torn between disappointment and excitement. The elf sat cross-legged, placing the egg on the ground in front of him. It lay there, rocking gently from side to side. Galbatorix listened closely, and heard faint squeaks coming from it. The dragon had awoken.

The candidates and the Egg-Guardian all watched in silence, and the golden egg's rocking motion became more violent. Flakes of shell started to break away. The elf whom it was hatching for kept his hands over the egg without actually touching it, his eyes shining with excitement. At last the egg split apart, and the hatchling emerged, sprawling on the grass, its limbs all floppy and slimy. It was the same metallic gold colour as its egg had been, and surprisingly large given the size of the egg. It lay still, gasping for breath, and then started to drag itself toward the elf.

'Touch him,' Einás whispered. 'Forge the bond.'

The candidate glanced quickly at her, and then reached out toward the dragon, palm-first. The dragon raised its head to look at it. It sniffed at the hand, and then poked it with its snout. The instant they made contact the candidate cried out in pain. Galbatorix started nervously – the sudden breaking of what had been a reverential silence had caught him off-guard.

The candidate clutched at his hand, wincing, and then looked at the palm. Galbatorix, craning his neck to see, saw a faint silver circle appear on the elf's skin. It got brighter, and then settled in place, and now the elf's hand was marked with a shining silver circle. It was a gedwëy ignaesia – the rider's mark, identical to the one he had seen on Carina's palm. The elf looked at it for a few moments, and then scooped the golden dragon into his arms and hugged it. The dragon appeared to like this; it snuggled against his chest and rubbed its head against his cheek, crooning softly.

'Care for him well,' Einás said. 'He is your partner, bonded to your soul. With him at

your side you will go on to do great things.'

The elf nodded and returned to his place, where his fellow candidates immediately gathered around for a look at the hatchling.

'Next,' said Einás, breaking it up.

The next candidate came forward. And then the next. And then others, one by one. Two more eggs hatched, but the rest were disappointed. Berim's turn came, but none of the eggs hatched for him. Morzan was next, and he was chosen by a red dragon. Then Flell went forward. A pale purple egg hatched for her, and she returned to her place, laughing out loud in joy, the hatchling perched on her shoulder.

Then it was Galbatorix's turn. He walked toward the box of eggs, feeling as if the bones in his legs had dissolved. For some reason, the few steps it took to get there felt very long. For a moment he had the irrational fear that it would never end, and that he'd spend the rest of his life walking toward the spot where Einás waited, her face kind and sad at the same time.

But then he was there, standing over the box and looking down upon the eggs, with the odd sensation of having just woken up in some way. He glanced up at Einás, as if waiting for permission to begin. She smiled on him. 'Don't be shy,' she said. 'Pick one up.'

Encouraged, Galbatorix started to reach for an egg. Then he paused. Which one should he try first? For some reason that seemed terribly important. He cast his eyes briefly over the shining eggshells. There were two red ones left, and some green and yellow and three brown ones. There was only one egg which didn't share its colour with any of the others. It was ivory white, and stood out amongst its fellows like a pearl in a bouquet of flowers. It was unique, and all alone. Galbatorix didn't hesitate any longer. He picked it up.

The instant he made contact with the shell, he felt a faint, electric thrill move through his fingers. It was only a slight tingling sensation, but it went straight up his arm and into his brain and made the back of his neck prickle. He straightened up, cupping the egg in his hands, and watched it closely. The egg was still for a time. Then it started to move. Gently at first, then more and more powerfully. Squeaks came from inside it. Galbatorix sat down sharply with the egg in his lap, and felt his heart soar inside him. It was hatching. It was hatching for him. His dream was coming true before his eyes.

The egg's shell started to flake away. It moved, paused, and moved again. Galbatorix couldn't bear to wait. He pulled bits of the shell away, helping the dragon break out, and once he'd made a hole big enough he hooked his fingers into it and broke the egg open. The hatchling spilled out onto his lap. It was pure white, and slender, writhing with life. Galbatorix didn't hesitate. He placed his hand on the dragon's head. The effect was instantaneous. Pain shot through him. Icy-cold, tingling, searing. It bit into his hand, moved up his arm and made a determined assault on his mind. He could feel himself expanding, mentally and physically. It was like what he had felt when he communicated with Illia, only a hundred times more powerful. Unlike the other candidates he didn't take his hand away; he kept it where it was until the pain subsided and the bond had been forged. Then he took it away and looked at his palm. Sure enough, it was now marked with a gedwëy ignaesia. He was a rider.

The white dragon looked up at him. Its eyes were bright silver, and disconcertingly alert.

'A white dragon is among the most powerful,' said Einás, from somewhere very far away. 'You are fortunate, Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix stood up, hugging the dragon to his chest, and returned to his place among the other candidates. He felt different now. Calmer. More certain. And he felt stronger too. He was a rider. From now on, he would never be alone again. He had found his life's partner, a companion for his soul. He was a rider.

The testing of the other candidates continued, but Galbatorix hardly paid attention. His mind was on his dragon and nothing else.

'Good for you, buddy,' said Berim, reaching over to scratch the white hatchling's stubby horns. 'She's a pretty one, isn't she?'

'Yeah,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm really sorry you didn't get chosen, Berim.'

Berim shrugged. 'You win some, you lose some,' he said. 'Life goes on.'

Galbatorix chuckled. He wished he could be this optimistic, but it seemed Berim had a gift there that he didn't.

'Yeah, well done,' said Morzan. His own dragon stretched her neck over his arm and sniffed at the other hatchling, who touched noses with her and cheeped.

'How d'you feel?' asked Brom. He paused for a few seconds, and added; '_Galbatorix?'_

'Yeah, what's with that?' said Berim. 'I thought you said your name was Arren.'

'Oh,' said Galbatorix. 'Well… Galbatorix is my true name.'

Brom's eyes widened. 'You already know your true name?' he said. 'You must be crazy, going around and saying it for everyone to hear.'

Galbatorix was confused for a second, and then realised what the other boy meant. An important principle of magic was knowing the true names of things. Every person had a true name as well, though they were very hard to find out, and once you knew your own you had to keep it a secret at all costs. If someone else knew your true name, they could use it to control you.

'No, no,' he said. 'That's not what I meant.'

'Well what_ do_ you mean, then?' asked Morzan.

'I'm an orphan,' said Galbatorix. 'My foster parents called me Arren, but my real parents called me Galbatorix.'

'Oh, I get it,' said Brom. 'That's interesting.'

'What happened to your real parents?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix said nothing, and the other rider went quiet.

Then it was Brom's turn to step forward. Galbatorix watched, hoping he'd be chosen. But he wasn't. Brom handled every egg, but none of them hatched. Unlike Berim he didn't take the rejection well; he cried out in despair and started retrying eggs he'd already handled, but in vain.

'I'm sorry, Brom,' Einás told him gently. 'You are not chosen. Go back and sit down.'

Brom did so, and Galbatorix could see tears on his face. His heart went out to the other boy; he'd taken a liking to Brom, and it was depressing to see him suffer like this.

And then, at last, as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon and the stars began to come out, the ceremony was over. Einás closed the box of eggs, touching each one affectionately before she did so. 'To all of those who have come and been disappointed, I am sorry,' she said. 'And to those who have become riders, let joy reign in your hearts, for from this day you are more than mere men or elves. Go back to your homes and begin your new lives; soon your training in the ways of the riders will begin.' She smiled on the candidates, chosen and rejected alike, and added, '**_Sé mor'ranr ono finna_. May you find peace.'**

**Galbatorix and his fellow candidates stood up and bowed to the Egg-Guardian. She smiled and nodded, picked up the box of eggs and retreated into her home. Galbatorix watched her go, and couldn't help but notice how lonely she looked. It occurred to him that it must be hard, to spend so many years watching riders find their dragons but never being chosen yourself. But he couldn't feel sad for too long, in spite of her loneliness and Brom's misery. He walked off back toward the valley with the other candidates, carrying the white dragon in the crook of his arm. She wriggled out of there and climbed onto his shoulder with surprising strength for one so young, her claws digging into his robe, and settled down, nestling into his hair. He could feel her warm weight there, and it brought a rare smile to his face. His dream had come true. The hard work and uncertainty had paid off. He was a rider.**


	5. Laela

Chapter Five

Laela

That night there was a feast in honour of the new riders. Galbatorix, Morzan, Flell and the elvish teenagers who had been chosen sat at the head of the table, their dragons at their sides, and ate heartily. The elves were vegetarian, and hence so was the feast, and Galbatorix was happy to sample the many different dishes on offer. The dragon hatchlings were provided with raw meat, which they tore into with gusto.

Galbatorix noticed that the way people treated him now was very different. Before, he had been an object of curiosity to the elves he spoke to. Now, though, mere hours later, he was spoken to with immense respect, as if he were a hero or a member of the nobility. Although, when he thought about it, being a dragon-rider was basically the same thing as being of the nobility. The difference was that you weren't born a rider. You had to earn it. And he had done it, so perhaps he was a hero too. In a way.

Brom had cheered up a little, partly thanks to Berim's philosophical remarks, and he sat nearby and joined in the festivities. 'So,' he said eventually, addressing Galbatorix. 'What _did_ happen to your real parents? If you don't mind me asking.'

Galbatorix paused, then finally settled for saying; 'They were murdered.'

'Oh,' said Brom. 'Gosh, I'm sorry…'

'You weren't to know,' said Galbatorix, shrugging. 'I don't remember them.'

Flell was sitting next to him; something he was very pleased about, and he chatted to her. She received his attentions with interest, and talked back animatedly, telling him about her life and her home. She had been born in the small country of Surda, but had moved to Therinsford at the age of ten. There she'd answered the call of the rider trials, and had travelled all the way to Gil'ead for the privilege. And it had paid off, of course. Her dragon sat on her knee, twittering, its scales a delicate shade of violet like the twilight sky.

'Are you going to give her a name now?' Galbatorix asked.

'No,' said Flell. 'No-one does that. Don't you know?'

'Know what?' said Galbatorix.

'Every dragon hatches knowing its name,' said Flell. 'When ours are old enough they'll tell us what they're called.'

'Oh, that's right,' said Galbatorix. 'I remember now. I read that on the journey. The parents whisper the names to them after they're laid.'

'That's right,' said Flell. 'My mother said that when she was pregnant with me she used to talk to me. She said she knew what to call me if I was born a girl straight away. Who knows, maybe she whispered it to me.'

Galbatorix was silent. Had his own mother been like that? Had she taken joy in her pregnancy and whispered to her child? No. Most likely she had cursed him, hated him for existing. The thought made him sad. No-one should be born like that, but he had. Still, this wasn't a time for unhappiness.

The celebrations went on long into the night. There was singing, dancing, fireworks and storytelling, and it seemed everyone in Ellesméra was there. Carina made an appearance, too, and congratulated her new protégés. Leaf let the hatchlings gather around him and investigate his huge legs, his fierce face much warmer now. Seeing him again, with the white hatchling standing beside him, Galbatorix was thrilled to imagine that one day his own dragon would be as big and strong. She wouldn't be able to sit on his shoulder forever. One day he would sit on her back, and she would carry him to wherever they wanted to go. The thought made him laugh for joy.

There was only one noticeable absence from the feast, and that was Einás'. Galbatorix had hoped she would be there so he could talk to her. No doubt she had many interesting stories to tell, and he would have listened eagerly. He shrugged mentally. He would have all the time in the world for that. No doubt there would be plenty of opportunities to seek out to old Egg-Guardian and hear about her life.

And still the party went on. It only broke up when it started to rain, and then everyone ran for cover, many giggling foolishly and trying to shield their heads with their hands. Galbatorix's dragon didn't like the rain. She squeaked in protest and spread her wings over her head like a miniature tent. Galbatorix and Flell took shelter under a tree, and were joined by Berim and Morzan.

'I hate the rain,' said Morzan, and then started when thunder broke overhead.

'Never mind,' said Berim. 'We're safe enough here. Hey, where's Brom?'

'I dunno,' said Morzan. 'Off sulking somewhere, I expect.'

'He left a while ago,' said Flell. 'I saw him go.'

'Did you see where he went?' asked Berim.

'Nope,' said Flell. 'He probably wanted some time alone.'

'I can understand that,' said Galbatorix. 'He didn't look very happy.'

'Yeah, well, he would, wouldn't he?' said Berim. 'I chatted to him before the ceremony, and he said he'd wanted to be a rider since he was tiny. He said it was the only thing he'd ever dreamed of, and if it didn't happen he wouldn't know what to do with himself.'

Suddenly Galbatorix's own few weeks of waiting didn't feel like they'd been all that long. 'The poor thing,' he said. 'We should think of some way to cheer him up.'

'Like what?' said Berim. 'Make him a big cake in the shape of a dragon?'

Galbatorix, Morzan and Flell snickered at the idea, watching the elves running back and forth trying to get the tables and decorations under cover. There was quite an impressive storm building overhead.

'They say dragons believe storms are unlucky, you know,' said Galbatorix. 'There's a legend I read in an old book about it. Apparently, if a dragon hatches during a storm, it's an evil omen. Means they'll have a tough life.'

'That doesn't mean our dragons will be unlucky, does it?' asked Morzan.

'No way,' said Flell. 'They hatched _before_ the storm. Anyway, it's all just silly superstition.'

'Yeah, I think so too,' said Galbatorix without thinking. 'But the legend did say… oh, well, there was some story about an evil dragon who was born on a stormy night. A "cursed day", dragons call them.'

'Oh, that one,' said Berim. 'I remember that one. My dad used to tell it. The evil storm dragon who could shoot lightning from his talons and blow hurricanes from his mouth and had rainclouds hidden under his wings.'

Flell snorted. 'That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.'

'But it makes for a good story,' said Berim.

'Yeah, when you're three,' said Flell. 'I'm not scared of storms.'

Forked lightning snaked across the sky, turning the air white. Flell yelped and pressed herself back against the tree-trunk, her dragon cowering in her arms with an almost identical look of fright on her face. The others laughed uproariously, and Flell scowled. 'That was surprise,' she said.

'The heck with this,' said Berim. 'I'm going back to my quarters.'

'Good idea,' said Morzan.

The little group parted ways, dashing off through the rain. Galbatorix made his way back to the little house assigned to him, and entered its warm, dry darkness again very gladly. He lit a candle and closed the door behind him, and his dragon hopped off his shoulder, using her wings as a parachute, and started to explore.

'This is where we'll be living for a while,' Galbatorix told her. 'It's good, isn't it? Much better than where I used to live. I didn't even have a proper bed back home. Just a hammock out the back.'

He stripped off his wet robe and changed into a clean nightshirt, and then climbed into bed. The dragon curled up beside him like a cat, and he rubbed her head with his thumb, which made her croon and close her eyes contentedly.

He sat up in bed for a time, reading one of the books he'd brought with him from the wagon, which had a chapter in it about caring for dragon hatchlings. Apparently they didn't need much in the way of parenting; in the wild they more or less raised themselves. The book also told him to expect his hatchling to grow very fast – it said that dragons reached physical maturity in about six months, at which time they were large enough to ride, but would continue to grow for the rest of their lives. Very old dragons, therefore, could be very massive indeed. The book claimed that there had been dragons big enough to swallow cows whole or lift a castle with one paw.

'Could _you_ possibly grow that big?' he asked the white hatchling out loud, on reading this, but she was fast asleep by this time. He could hear the storm still raging outside, and decided it was probably time for him to sleep too. No doubt there'd be a lot to do in the morning. He put aside the book and blew out the candle, and tried to relax.

But he couldn't sleep. Even though he was tired out from the events of the day, he just couldn't drop off. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, but though the bed was much softer than the various straw pallets he'd slept on in the taverns they'd stopped in along the way, it just didn't feel right. His restlessness bothered the hatchling, too – she woke up and kept moving to a different spot, lying down, getting up and moving again. He could sense her irritation through their newly-formed mental link, and felt guilty for keeping her awake. It was only a taste of the effect their partnership would have on him, he knew.

The hours dragged by, and still Galbatorix and his dragon lay awake. It was no good. In the end, he took what felt like the most logical course of action at the time. He got up, lit the candle again, and started searching the room for something he could tie a rope to. He found some sturdy ornamentations on the ceiling and, after testing them, decided they would do. There was some rope in the wardrobe and, using this and a spare blanket from the bed, he made and strung up a crude hammock. He transferred some bedding into it, and then lay in it. Almost instantly, the gentle swinging and feeling of weightlessness calmed him down. He sighed gladly and snuggled down, too tired to put out the candle. The white hatchling hopped down off the bed, waddled over and sat on the floor by the hammock, looking up at him accusingly. Galbatorix chuckled and held out his arm, and she climbed up it and onto his chest, where she curled up, purring softly.

Outside the rain continued to fall, but neither Galbatorix nor the dragon noticed it. They lay together in the hammock, fast asleep and utterly content, sharing their dreams.

The following day dawned bright and sunny, and once Galbatorix had risen, washed and dressed in his now-dry robe, he emerged from his temporary home yawning and blinking in the light. The white hatchling was perched on his shoulder again, all bright eyes and curiosity.

The valley was wet and draggled after the storm, and the ground was littered with leaves and bits of branch. Some of the smaller and slenderer trees had blown over and lay on their sides, their dirt-caked roots poking forlornly into the air. Already elves were attending to them, lifting them up and re-planting them with as much concern as if they were people. Galbatorix, watching from the doorway, could hear them singing sweetly as they worked.

'You know,' he told the white hatchling, 'These elves are a bit weird.'

The hatchling twittered.

'I can't even tell the men from the women,' Galbatorix added. Which was true enough; all the elves wore their hair long and dressed similarly. 'Come to that,' Galbatorix went on, 'I can hardly tell one from the other. They look like they're all brothers and sisters or something. Their cooking's good, though. Even if there's no meat.'

The white hatchling seemed to like the sound of his voice. She stood up on her hind legs and climbed onto his head, twining her claws into his hair for purchase. Once she'd made it up there, she crouched on the top of his head like a little gargoyle, her tail hanging down over his nose.

'That really hurts, you know,' Galbatorix told her, but with no particular emphasis.

The white hatchling chirped back happily, her small talons digging into his scalp. Galbatorix winced. On his head, the dragon suddenly paused and rubbed her own head with her paw. Then she jumped off into space. Galbatorix caught her neatly without even thinking, and then blinked, puzzled. 'That's odd,' he said. 'I… I _knew_ you were going to jump before you did it.'

The white hatchling's mind radiated confidence, as if to say; 'And I knew you were going to catch me.'

At this point they were interrupted by Berim and Illia, whose own quarters were next door. The two of them hurried up to Galbatorix, and while he was still some distance away Berim shouted; 'Did you hear? Galbatorix, d'you know what happened?'

Galbatorix stood perplexed. 'No,' he said, once Berim had reached him. 'What's going on?'

'It's amazing!' said Flell, her own dragon standing at her heels. 'The elves say nothing like it's ever happened before.'

'Nothing like _what?'_ said Galbatorix.

'It's Brom,' said Berim. 'He got a dragon.'

'_What?_ How? When?'

'Last night,' said Flell. 'After it started raining he went back to the Egg-Guardian's house and begged for another try. And one of the eggs hatched for him. I saw the hatchling just now. It's blue.'

'That's incredible!' said Galbatorix. 'I can't believe the Egg-Guardian let him try again. But why would an egg just change its mind like that?'

'Who knows?' said Berim. 'Anyway… I'm glad for him. He's a nice guy, is Brom.'

'You should ask for another go too,' said Galbatorix.

'Nah,' said Berim. 'I'm okay with what happened. No sense in fighting against it. What happened to Brom was a freak chance. It won't happen again. I'm off home today. I'll probably live out the rest of my life as a fisherman or something, but come and visit me some day, okay?'

'Of course,' said Galbatorix.

'I will, too,' said Flell.

'So where's Brom now?' asked Galbatorix.

'Not sure,' said Berim. 'He'll show up eventually. Your training starts today, after all.'

'Here comes Carina now,' said Flell, pointing.

The green-clad woman approached them, carrying her sword on her back. 'There you are,' she said. 'Good morning. Did you sleep well?'

Galbatorix nodded.

'Good,' said Carina. 'You and the other new riders have to go to Islanzadí's audience chamber. She wants to speak to you all before your training begins. As for you, Berim… the escort is ready to take you home. You'd better go and pack your things.'

'Yes, m'am,' said Berim, and left.

Flell and Galbatorix went with Carina to the other end of the valley, where Islanzadí, Queen of the Elves, was waiting in her open-air audience chamber. The newly-chosen elvish riders were already there, along with Brom, who, sure enough, was accompanied by a blue hatchling. Galbatorix sat down next to him, along with Flell.

'Hello!' said Brom. 'Beautiful day, isn't it?'

'So it's true,' said Galbatorix, while the white and blue hatchlings touched noses.

'Yes,' said Brom. 'Did Berim tell you?'

'He did,' said Galbatorix. 'He said you went back and asked for another try.'

Brom nodded. 'This is Saphira,' he said, putting his hand on the blue hatchling's head.

'How d'you know that already?' asked Flell.

'Oh!' said Brom suddenly. 'Well, uh… Einás taught me how to look into her head. There's a trick to it. I found out her name by looking at her memories.'

'That's interesting,' said Flell. 'I wonder if I could do it too?'

'I'll give it a try,' said Galbatorix. 'I can't keep calling her "dragon", can I?'

'You'll have to wait until later,' said Brom. 'Islanzadí's going to speak.'

The elvish queen was sitting in an elaborately-carved chair on a slightly raised spot at the end of the chamber. She was a beautiful woman, and finely-dressed as befitted her station, and the elvish riders were watching her respectfully. Galbatorix and his fellow humans fell silent, and the Queen began to speak.

'Greetings, Argetlam,' she said. 'I call you that because you are, of course, no longer ordinary elves and humans. Now you are dragon-riders, and from this day forward all of you will be trusted, honoured and respected. You will be addressed as Argetlam or as Shur'tugal, and wherever you go you will be recognised as keepers of the peace. Your wisdom and your strength will be called upon in the service of the common people, and if there is war you will be the greatest generals to fight and to lead. Even kings and queens like myself will pay homage to you. However, do not think that this means you will be free from responsibility or hard work. A rider's work is never finished, and it is both hard and dangerous. And before you are to be trusted with any positions of power you must first be trained. Your training will be in the arts of combat and magic, but also in literature, culture and music. A rider is expected to be a scholar as well as a fighter. You will also be taught discipline. A rider who misuses his powers, or who looks to his own personal gain rather than to the common good, is the worst kind of criminal and betrayer. For those among you who are human, your time with my people here in Ellesméra will teach you that. We will teach you the codes of behaviour that you must follow. After your time here is done, you will part ways. Each of you will need an elder to tutor you, and you will go with that tutor to many different places. Your training may take many years, but once it is over you will be ready to join the riders. One day, some of you may even be elders yourselves. And be of good cheer. The future is bright for all of you, and I hope that you will enjoy your time here. Now I will leave you to the one who will begin your training. Good luck.'

The Queen finished speaking and stood up as Carina entered. The two of them exchanged friendly nods, and Islanzadí departed. Carina took her place in front of the new riders, of whom there were twelve. Galbatorix couldn't help but notice that among the little group there were twice as many elves as there were humans, and he wondered why.

Carina sat down on the vacated throne. 'I won't talk for too long,' she said. 'I expect you're all bored and raring for some action by now. So we'll start your training with something physical.' She drew the green-bladed sword and twirled it skilfully.

'Okay, when do I get one of those?' Flell called out.

Several of the other riders snickered.

Carina smiled. 'When you complete your training,' she said.

'Oh, come _on,'_ said Flell. 'I'm not waiting that long!'

'Calm down,' said Carina. 'You're a rider now, not a child. You have hundreds of years of life to live, and that takes patience so you'd better start learning now. Besides, your own sword won't be much use to you until you know how to use it. Your training in swordplay begins today. Come with me.'

She stood up and left the audience chamber, and her new students followed. Outside, Leaf was waiting for them, grooming his wings in a dignified way. The green dragon turned his head toward them, and they heard his voice in their minds. _'Good morning, hatchlings.'_

Carina went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. 'The dragons will go with Leaf,' she said. 'He will start teaching them how to fly.'

Every one of the students hesitated at that. 'You mean… we have to leave them here with him?' one of the elves said.

'Yes,' said Carina. 'I know you won't want to do it, but they'll be fine. Leaf will look after them.'

'Will she be all right?' said Flell, hugging her purple hatchling to her chest.

Leaf fixed her with his golden eyes. _'Don't you trust me?'_ he asked, projecting his thoughts to all those present.

'We trust you,' said Galbatorix, stepping forward. He put the white hatchling down by Leaf's claws. 'You trust him, don't you?' he said to her.

The white hatchling looked up at him, and he could feel her reluctance to do as he'd asked, but she lowered her head and went to Leaf anyway.

Carina nodded to the other students, signalling to them to do the same. They urged their own hatchlings to go to Leaf, but most of them clung to their riders and wouldn't leave them. The white hatchling looked over at them and squeaked loudly. The other hatchlings looked up at her. She looked back commandingly through her own silver eyes, and squeaked again. And the other hatchlings obeyed. They left their riders and went to stand by Leaf. He nudged the white hatchling with his nose and growled approvingly.

Galbatorix reached into his dragon's mind, and let her feel his approval. She projected satisfaction back. It was like a sort of mental handshake.

'Now then,' said Carina, who looked pleased with what had happened. 'Humans and elves, come with me.'

Galbatorix walked off with his fellow students, but looked back in time to see Leaf take off. The white hatchling opened her own wings and began to beat at the air with them, and she and the other hatchlings took to the sky for the first time.

Galbatorix spent the rest of that day in the training grounds with the other students, learning how to use a sword for the first time. It wasn't what he'd expected. They used wooden practise swords, and after Carina had demonstrated a few basic moves they set to work on perfecting them. Then they progressed to mock-sparring with each other, but they had to do it very slowly. Many of the elvish students had already received some training in swordplay and this, combined with their superior speed and strength, gave them an unfair advantage when they fought against humans. Therefore Galbatorix was paired with Morzan, and Flell with Brom. Galbatorix did well at this. So well, in fact, that several times he gave advice to Morzan, which Morzan took. Carina, seeing this, separated the two of them and made Galbatorix take on one of the elvish students instead. But if she'd been hoping to teach him some humility that way she was sadly mistaken. Even though the elf was a much more formidable opponent than Morzan, Galbatorix managed to hold his own against him. Flell, Morzan and Brom were all highly impressed by this and, sensing it, Galbatorix started to show off. He got away with it, too. And he enjoyed the challenge. Finally he'd found someone whose talents in fighting matched his own. The elf had the same heightened agility and strength as him – skills which went beyond those of an ordinary human. Later on Galbatorix realised what it meant. Elves, it seemed, were stronger than humans from birth, and so was he. It was his father's blood coming through. He was glad about that. Not just because it gave him an aptitude for fighting that his fellow humans didn't have, but because it meant he could put the elvish students in their place. He hadn't been among elves for long, but by the time he reached the training yard and saw the elvish students showing off their athletic abilities he was already feeling irritated by them. They were so full of themselves. So high and mighty about their greater beauty and power. Well, now he'd shown them that a human could do as well as them.

It was doubly worth it when Flell caught up with him at the end of the day and said; 'That was incredible! Have you ever used a sword before?'

'Not before the trials back home, no,' said Galbatorix, basking in a warm, smug glow.

'You're really good,' Brom added. 'You moved like they do. I've never seen anyone move that fast.'

'Me neither,' said Morzan. 'You'll have finished your training by the end of the week, probably.'

'Oh, I doubt it,' Galbatorix said airily. 'Those elves, though… they're tough. I didn't know they were so much stronger than us.'

'They all are,' said Flell. 'Always have been, too.'

'Why else d'you think they're so sneery an' stuff?' said Morzan.

'Yes, well, now they've seen how good you are that should teach them some manners, eh?' said Brom.

The elf that Galbatorix had sparred with caught up with them. 'Not bad,' he said. 'For a human.' He was the blonde-haired, brown-eyed elf for whom the gold dragon had hatched, and wore a disdainful, catlike expression on his fine face.

'What's wrong with humans?' Brom demanded.

The elf was joined by two others. 'Humans!' one of them said. 'Weak, short-lived, crude creatures you are. You shouldn't get to be riders at all.'

'Don't be rude, Järnya,' said the blonde-haired elf. 'These ones are more than just human now.'

The one called Järnya sniffed. 'That power should be just for us,' he said. 'Humans shouldn't be allowed to share it.'

'You're just jealous because Galbatorix is as good as you,' Flell retorted, taking hold of his elbow as if to protect him.

The blonde elf looked Galbatorix in the eye. 'Be careful, human,' he said. 'If you let yourself become too confident, your downfall will be that much more painful.'

Galbatorix had had enough. He stopped walking and confronted the elf, who looked warily at him. 'You can try and sound wise,' he said, 'But I know you're just afraid you've met your match.' The elf stared at him, looking as startled as if he'd just slapped him in the face. 'Doesn't feel good, does it?' Galbatorix taunted. 'Knowing you're not good enough to beat a measly human like me. Perhaps it's time _you_ learnt some humility, elf.'

Morzan sniggered. Brom looked aghast. Flell, however, lifted her chin and smiled as proudly as if Galbatorix were her big brother protecting her from a gang of bullies.

The blonde elf was infuriated. He leant forward and rasped; 'Don't think I don't know what you're doing, human. You're plotting something, and let me assure you it will end badly for you if you think you can win against us.' He stalked off, his friends in tow.

'"Plotting something"?' Brom repeated. 'Is he mad?'

'It's nonsense,' said Morzan. He glanced at Galbatorix. '…right?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'These elves are demented,' he said. 'Plotting something? Not likely. What would I be plotting, anyway?'

'You should get back at him,' said Flell. 'Come up with some way to humiliate him. It'd serve him right, the snob.'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm not interested in that sort of thing. That's for children, and we're riders now. That means we should start acting more like adults.'

'Absolutely,' said Brom, nodding. 'If Lanethial's going to act like a child, that's no reason for us to do it. We're better than him.'

'Are you sure about that?' said Galbatorix. 'I thought we were _just humans._'

'Yeah, that's right,' said Flell. 'Just poor, puny little humans.'

'Hah. Not any more,' said Brom. 'Pretty soon we'll be like them.'

'"Like them"?' said Morzan.

'Yeah,' said Brom. 'Human riders become very elvish over time. You can hardly tell the older ones are human at all.'

'How do you mean?' asked Flell.

'Your ears go pointy like theirs,' said Brom. 'And we'll have to dress like elves. Eat like them, too. That's what the training does to you. It teaches you how to be like them.'

Galbatorix said nothing. He was thinking. No-one had told him this yet. And though the idea of becoming more graceful was attractive in a way he wasn't sure he liked what he was hearing. He watched the elvish students walking ahead of them, all silent and loping like cats, and his frown deepened.

Down in the valley near Islanzadí's audience chamber, they found the dragons waiting for them. The white hatchling ran to Galbatorix straight away, and this time, rather than climbing up his robe to get to his shoulder, she flew. Somewhat unsteadily, but with confidence, her white wings beating strongly. She landed neatly in her favourite spot, and poked her nose in his ear in a friendly way.

'Hello, you,' said Galbatorix, scratching her head. He looked over at Leaf, hesitated for a few seconds, and then reached out mentally. _'How did she do?'_ he asked.

He felt Leaf's surprise, but the green dragon replied. _'Not many new riders could do that as confidently as you do,'_ he said.

'_Do what?'_ Galbatorix asked, innocently.

'_Communicate through the mind,'_ said Leaf. _'Carina and I were shocked at how well you did it with the wild one in Teirm.'_

'_Oh,'_ said Galbatorix. He didn't know what else to say.

'_I should warn you,'_ Leaf went on, _'It is considered rude to communicate with another rider's dragon unless they speak to you first.'_

'_I'm sorry,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I didn't know.'_

'_Of course you didn't,'_ said Leaf. _'You had no opportunity to find out. Now you know.'_

The white hatchling fluttered her wings and chirped. Galbatorix could sense that she was feeling tired but exhilarated. _'So how did she do?'_ he asked again.

'_She did well,'_ said Leaf. _'She has strong wings and is sure of herself. The other hatchlings looked to her as something of a leader. However, she is just as wilful as her rider.'_

Galbatorix sensed that he should probably be embarrassed about this, but he couldn't resist mentally informing the white hatchling that he was pleased. _We are both talented_, he effectively told her. _We should be proud of ourselves._

The white hatchling sent back a feeling of happiness. Then she surprised him by sending something else – a picture. It suddenly appeared in his mind as if it were something he remembered, but he knew instinctively that it was hers. The picture was of Leaf, flying powerfully over the valley, with the hatchlings flying beside him like a flock of sparrows. The white hatchling was right at the front. There were feelings of pride and excitement attached to the memory, and Galbatorix knew that, in her own way, the hatchling was recounting what she had done that day. He wondered if he could do the same, then threw aside his doubts. Of _course_ he could do it. He summoned up the memory of sparring with Lanethial the elf in the training yard, and showed it to her, along with the knowledge that he was as fast and strong as an elf and proud of the fact. He could feel the white hatchling looking at it, and knew that she was equally pleased about it.

Letting their mental link return to its normal state, he looked around him proudly and saw the other students talking to their own dragons. Out loud! He wanted to laugh. Couldn't they do it too? Apparently not. Carina, who'd followed her students from the training yard at a leisurely pace, took her place by Leaf's side and called for attention.

'Now then,' she said once she'd got it. 'I have a new exercise for you, and this one's mental. Both you and your dragons have experienced new things today, and if your dragons were old enough to speak you'd be comparing notes right now. However, don't forget that your dragon is not a pet. You are bonded together in the mind, and your mental link is the key to a much purer and more meaningful form of communication. Recall the final trial which each of you went to, and how you had to focus your minds in order to make contact with the wild dragon's mind. Now you must do it again. But this time it will be easier. The link is already there. You won't encounter any resistance. And, of course, your dragons aren't interested in killing you.' She smiled, evidently pleased by her own wit. 'Now, try it. Some of you may be able to begin sharing memories at once. Others will have to keep trying for a while until they get the hang of it. In time you'll be able to look into your dragon's earliest memories and learn its name.'

Galbatorix stifled an astonished laugh.

'Now, go to it,' said Carina. 'Go wherever you like. You and your partners need time alone together, I think. Someone will be sent to find you when it's time for the evening meal.'

The students dispersed. Galbatorix and the white hatchling shared a feeling of excitement. The pair of them wandered off and eventually found a secluded spot by a stream under a willow-tree. Galbatorix stopped there. The white hatchling eyed the tree and then leapt up into its branches. Galbatorix looked up and saw her perched on a limb just over his head. She squeaked at him, her claws digging into the bark.

Galbatorix grinned. 'Two can play at that game.'

He grabbed hold of the branch and lifted himself into the tree. The white hatchling scuttled off, squealing, pretending to be afraid. Galbatorix went after her, and for a time the two of them chased each other through the branches. Later on Galbatorix was very glad no-one saw him doing this.

The game ended when the little dragon took refuge on an outer branch which was too thin to take Galbatorix's weight. He grinned and retreated to a comfortable spot where a much larger branch joined the trunk. 'Enjoy that while you can,' he called to the hatchling, which was regarding him smugly. 'You won't be the smaller one of us forever, you know.'

The hatchling chittered and came over to him, jumping from branch to branch and finally settling down at a spot by his head.

Galbatorix sat back and relaxed. When he did so, he thought he heard the hatchling sigh. That made him smile. He'd known, of course, that dragons and their riders shared thoughts and feelings. But he'd never imagined it would be like this. So… natural. They were perfectly attuned to each other, and they'd only known each other for a day and a night. Reaching into her mind again came even more easily this time. The white hatchling let him in, and he began to sift through her memories. She responded by reaching into his own, and for some time the two of them sat like a pair of statues in the tree, sharing their pasts. Galbatorix could feel her discovering all the incidents of his life – the time when he cut his finger with a leather-knife, the time when he argued with Cardock over some money that had been stolen from the stall, the time when he made his first leather handbag and then sold it with great pride, the time when Tommen and Bruin beat him up, the time when he revealed his true nature and was nearly killed. And all the way back to a day buried in his subconscious, when a young woman looked at him with misery and despair in her eyes and whispered to him that she loved him and never wanted to let him go. _Galbatorix,_ her voice echoed. _My little one. My Galbatorix._

The white hatchling absorbed this memory solemnly, and Galbatorix knew that she had helped him rediscover the only thing he would ever remember about his mother. His heart ached inside him, and the white hatchling soothed it by sharing a feeling of sympathy and understanding.

Her own memories, when he delved into them, were very unlike his own. They were hazy and indistinct, more like impressions of things than fully-formed memories. It was only to be expected; her mind had only been partly-formed for most of her life so far, and it still had a lot of growing to do. He sensed uncounted years in a tiny prison, but there was no fear attached to the memory. There was only peace and calm and the vague wish to be free. There was a sense of searching, too – a memory of how the unhatched dragon had reached out with her still-undeveloped telepathy and sought a mind that was attuned to hers. And she had found one. His. He found the memory of the previous day, when she had hatched. Now he saw things from her point of view, and felt that little sting of excitement and new life that she had felt when she had touched his mind with hers and known that she had found the one she was destined for. If he'd had any doubts about whether they were right for each other, they died then.

He reached back further into her memories, looking for that last, elusive thing – her name. And he found it. It was the very earliest memory that she had. The memory was of darkness, and warmth, and two huge presences nearby – her parents. Those presences touched the outside of her little world, and the great wind of their breath blew over it. Then a voice – a rich, protective voice – whispered to her. _Laela,_ it said. _Your name is Laela. Remember it, little one. Laela._

Galbatorix gently withdrew from the white hatchling's mind, and found himself blinking and a little dazed. Mental communication this intense made him lose all sense of his surroundings, and of time as well. How long had they been doing this? He hadn't the faintest clue. But when he looked up at the sky he saw that the first few stars were coming out. The horizon was painted with a glorious pattern of red, gold, orange and pink. It was nearly nighttime, he realised. He'd been sitting in the tree all evening.

He looked at the hatchling. She was still sitting where she'd been before, and he felt her tiredness mirroring his own. He reached out and lifted her into his arms, and she snuggled against his chest, crooning softly.

'So,' said Galbatorix. 'Your name's Laela, isn't it? Laela.'

The white hatchling seemed to recognise the name. He could feel her familiar response to it, and knew what that meant – _yes._

'Well, my name's Galbatorix,' said Galbatorix. 'Or Arren. But I prefer Galbatorix.'

Laela yawned widely, showing her tiny fangs, and mentally informed him that she was hungry.

'Me too,' said Galbatorix. He jumped down from the tree and headed back toward Ellesméra.

14


	6. Training

Chapter Six

Training

They rejoined the others at the dining table, the same one that they had eaten at the previous night, which had been brought back out again. Galbatorix sat next to Flell and Brom, and the three of them compared notes.

'Did you find out your dragon's name?' Brom asked.

Galbatorix nodded. 'Her name's Laela.'

'Laela,' said Flell. 'That's a nice name. I found out my dragon's name, too.'

'Do tell,' said Brom, feeding Saphira a chunk of meat.

'Her name is Thrain,' said Flell, petting the violet hatchling.

Morzan had been listening from across the table. 'You got luckier 'n' me,' he said. 'I didn't find out what mine was called. I'm just calling her Ruby until I know different.'

'Ruby would be a nice name anyway,' said Brom. He paused to take a mouthful of wine, and then added; 'It'd be funny if it turned out you guessed right, wouldn't it?'

'Hah, yeah,' said Morzan. 'But I ain't no good at guessin' games.'

Galbatorix munched on some bread with hazelnut paste on it. He swallowed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He hadn't shaved in days, and there was some stubble there. 'I was thinking,' he said. 'I was thinking I might grow a beard. What d'you think?'

'Oh, you can't do that,' said Morzan, helping himself to a baked apple. 'It's not allowed.'

'What do you mean, not allowed?' said Galbatorix, mystified.

'Male riders have to be clean-shaven,' said Brom. 'It's the rules.'

'But why?' said Galbatorix. 'What difference does it make?'

'I don't know,' said Brom.

'_I_ know,' said Flell. 'It's to make you more like an elf. Elvish men can't grow beards.'

Galbatorix said nothing. But inside his puzzlement turned to anger. This was beyond ridiculous. No meat, no beard, the fancy clothes and the constant demands of them to be quieter and more graceful, and to cap it all his ears would become pointed. It was as if he were being forced to stop being a human and become an elf. And he resented that. What was wrong with being human? Were they trying to make him ashamed of it? Well, he wouldn't do that. He resolved then and there that he _would_ grow a beard, and they could complain about it if they wanted but he wouldn't let that bother him. What could they do? He shared this idea with Laela, and she replied with amused approval. The white dragon's emotions were getting easier to sense all the time.

On the following day the new riders went to Islanzadí's audience chamber once again, and were met there by Carina and Leaf.

'Good morning,' said Carina. 'Leaf will be taking charge of the dragons again today. The rest of you will stay with me. I've something new to teach you this time. You'll spend the morning doing that, and then after lunch it's back to the training ground to work on your swordplay.'

Laela and Galbatorix parted ways, a little less reluctantly this time. They knew they'd be reunited, and both were eager to learn more. Once the dragons had departed, Carina got straight to it.

'Now then,' she said. 'What you'll be learning today is something much subtler than swordplay, and much more powerful. But much harder, too.' She smiled and held out her hands so that they could see her own gedwëy ignaesia. She muttered a word, and a green flame appeared around her fingers, burning brightly but without causing her any apparent pain. She closed her fingers and the flame vanished. 'Magic,' she said. 'It's an art that can both create and destroy. Swords are all very well, but they can't do a fraction of what magic can do. As riders, you all have the ability to use magic. And today I'll begin teaching you how.' She sat down, and motioned her students to do the same. Then she began the lesson. 'Magic is connected to the ancient language,' she said. 'It can be wielded without words – hah, that almost rhymed, didn't it? – but it's much safer to use words. They express your will and bind the magic so it will only do what you command. Otherwise it's very dangerous. You'll have to learn the ancient language to use your magic, of course, so you'll need to put in a lot of work before you can do very complex things with it. Magic isn't limited by words. In theory it can do anything. But here's the catch. If you perform something by magic, it takes energy to do it, and that energy comes from you. You can draw it from other living creatures as well, but you should only do that if you must. Because using too much energy at once can kill you. And if you draw too much energy from someone else it will have the same effect on them. Magic isn't something to be toyed with. In the wrong hands it can have disastrous effects. So we'll start off with something simple.' She reached into her pocket and produced a small cloth bag, which she handed to the nearest student. 'Pass this around,' she said. 'Take one each.'

When the bag reached Galbatorix he put his hand inside and removed one of the objects from inside. However, rather than being something special and mysterious like he'd hoped, it was an ordinary acorn. He rolled it between his fingers, feeling its smooth brown shell, and passed the bag on.

Once everyone was holding a seed of some kind, Carina resumed. 'Now then. I suppose you're feeling a little disappointed. I can assure you there's nothing special about these seeds. But they're perfect for the spell I'm about to teach you.' The bag had been passed back to her, and she reached into it and removed a plum stone. She put the bag aside and held the seed in the palm of her left hand. Holding her right hand over it – the hand with the gedwëy ignaesia – she said; '_Vaxa!_' in a loud, clear voice.

Green energy came from the silver mark and enveloped the seed, creating a halo around it. While the students watched, the seed twitched. A cracking sound came from it, and then a pale, fresh shoot sprouted out of it. Carina withdrew her hand and the green energy vanished, but the shoot continued to grow. By the time it stopped, the seed had put forth a small plant. The students gasped.

Carina smiled. 'A simple spell, like I said. The word I used was "vaxa". In the ancient language it simply means "grow". That's how the words work. Give a command to something in the ancient language, and your magic will see that your command is carried out. Now you try it. You'll be able to feel your magic flowing out of you, and if you feel yourself beginning to weaken just stop the flow. It'll come naturally to you. Give it a try.'

Galbatorix didn't hesitate. He put the acorn in the palm of his hand and raised his other hand. He paused and glanced at the silver gedwëy ignaesia. It was odd to have it there on his hand. But he liked it. It was a sign of his powers. He held his hand over the acorn, palm-down, and said; '_Vaxa!_' as clearly as he could.

It worked. At once a beam of white light shot from his palm and covered the acorn. He could feel energy flowing out of him and into it. It was a little frightening to feel his life-force coming out of him like that. For a fraction of a second he had the impulse to stop it, but he kept on going. He'd been doing far too well so far to give in now. He let the energy keep on flowing, and he saw the results. The acorn's shell split, and a sprout emerged from it, reaching up toward the sky. He watched it grow, ignoring the feeling of the energy still flowing out of him. He let it keep on until the sprout put forth leaves. By then he could feel the effects of using his magic. He started to feel tired and weak, as if it were the end of a long, hard day rather than the beginning of one. Not liking this, he moved his hand away and stopped concentrating. The white light vanished. His breathing a little harsh, he examined the new-grown oak seedling. It was real, all right, and perfectly-formed, each leaf green and fresh. He touched them, amazed that he had caused them to grow. Then he glanced around at the others, to see how they were doing. To his intense irritation, he saw that the elves had all succeeded in making their seeds sprout, and most of them had done better than him. Lanethial, the blonde one whose dragon was gold, had actually produced a small birch sapling as long as his arm. Galbatorix's fellow humans, however, weren't faring so well. Flell's rosehip had put forth a single flimsy stem, Brom had got his pinecone to begin sprouting, but kept hesitating and cutting off the beam of blue light coming from his palm, and Morzan hadn't managed to get any results at all. Galbatorix looked at Lanethial again, and saw the elf smirking at his admiring friends. On noticing that Galbatorix was watching, he eyed the small oak-sprout and sculpted his face into an elegant sneer.

Galbatorix growled under his breath. Impulsively he spread his hand over the little plant and said; '_Vaxa!_' again.

The white light reappeared and enveloped the plant which, after a few seconds, began to grow again. This time Galbatorix didn't keep an eye on his energy. He let the magic keep coming, intent on making the plant grow. It grew, and the magic kept on coming, and his life-energy flowed inexorably out of him. When his muscles started to twitch, he ignored them. The seedling became a sapling; its stem hardened and became brown with bark, and twigs became branches. He put the acorn down on the ground in front of him, not taking his other hand away. The white magic bathed every branch and every leaf, faint and soft like the light of dawn. And still the plant kept growing. It was a tree now, higher than Galbatorix's head.

'That's enough now,' said Carina, cutting across his concentration.

He realised that all the other students were staring at him. Carina had stood up and was looking at him, her face stern. 'Arren, stop,' she said. 'You're going too far.'

He looked at her, the magic still flowing. 'My name is Galbatorix,' he said.

The tree kept growing.

'Galbatorix, stop!' said Carina, her expression suddenly showing concern. 'You're putting yourself in danger. For the stars' sake, stop!'

'Your heard her,' came the nasally voice of Lanethial, from behind him. 'Best stop now, human. You don't want to die, do you?'

Galbatorix was starting to feel dizzy. But the sound of the elf's disdainful tones brought him new determination. He gritted his teeth and kept going. The tree put forth roots, which anchored themselves in the ground. It grew taller and taller, the trunk now as thick as his arm. Carina stood up and ran to him, grabbing his wrist. But his magic surged at her touch, burning her hand. She swore and let go.

Galbatorix stood up shakily, his hand still outstretched, the gedwëy ignaesia glowing with magic. His eyes had become glazed. But still the tree grew.

From somewhere far away, he heard Carina's voice. '_Stop, Galbatorix, stop! You'll die!'_

He glanced up at the tree. It was higher than his head, and its thick, verdant foliage rustled in the breeze, all alight with magic. At the back of his mind, he sensed Laela's faint presence. And he knew that she was terrified.

In the face of that, he lowered his hand at last. He heard Carina say something, and then he collapsed.

There was nothing but darkness. For a long time, darkness and silence. Then he heard a voice. _'Galbatorix,'_ it said. _'Galbatorix.'_

Silence again. And then the voice. _'Galbatorix,'_ it said. _'Galbatorix, don't die. I don't want you to die. You must live.'_

Galbatorix could only see the darkness. It was warm and restful. He wanted to go to it. But the voice said; _'No. Come back, Galbatorix. Come to me.'_

He didn't like the voice. He wanted it to leave him alone; leave him in peace. But it wouldn't. It spoke on, always urging him to come toward it. Every time he relaxed into the darkness and the silence, it sounded again and disturbed his rest.

'_Leave me alone,'_ he said at last.

'_I won't,'_ said the voice. _'Never. Not until you wake up. Come to me, Galbatorix.'_

'_But I want to rest.'_

'_No. I won't let you. The time for resting is over. Wake up, little one.'_

And then there was light.

Galbatorix opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and grey around the edges, but he recognised the roof of his little elvish home. It was illuminated by flickering candle-light. Nighttime. Had he been unconscious all day? He groaned and tried to sit up, but his head wouldn't lift off the pillow.

At once he heard a voice in his head. _'Galbatorix!'_ it said. _'You're alive!'_

'_Of course I am,'_ he replied without even thinking about it. _'What's… what's going on?'_

'_You've been unconscious a long time,'_ said the voice. _'Everyone thought you were going to die.'_

He'd never heard the voice before in his life. But there was something very familiar about it. 'Laela?' he said out loud. 'Is – is that you?'

'_Yes,'_ said the voice. _'I've been looking after you.'_

Galbatorix turned his head with some effort – he felt weak all over. Sure enough, he saw Laela. The white hatchling was… not a hatchling any more. He was lying in the hammock he'd made, with several blankets over him. And Laela was crouched on the floor, her head resting on his chest. The rest of her was much too big to sit there. She was now the size of a large dog, and she was… beautiful. Ivory white, her eyes bright silver, her wings wide and powerful, their membranes the colour of moonlight. He lifted a hand – something so laborious that it felt as if he were lifting it out of a pit of tar – and rested it on her snout. 'You're so big,' he said. 'When did you… grow so big?' his voice came out slow and slurred, and he had trouble finding words. He felt all dopey.

Laela shared a feeling of slight confusion. _'Galbatorix… you've been unconscious for three weeks.'_

Galbatorix felt no surprise, only vague confusion. _'Three weeks?'_ he said, resorting to using his mental voice since his normal one took too much effort to use. _'That's… that's silly. I can't have been out that long.'_

'_You were,'_ said Laela. _'You used all your energy, and it's taken this long to find more. Carina would have used her magic to replenish it, but you were so weak she was afraid that the slightest interference might kill you. I've stayed by you and let you share my energy. It kept you alive.'_

Galbatorix lay still, trying to remember what had happened. A tree… there had been something about a tree.

'_Your tree?'_ said Laela, sensing his thoughts. _'It's doing well. Your magic made it very strong. It's already growing acorns of its own.'_

The memory came back instantly. _'I'm in trouble, aren't I?'_

'_Oh yes,'_ said Laela. _'Big trouble. Well… you were, anyway. I expect they'll think you've had enough punishment, but you'll certainly be told off. Carina was horrified. Leaf told me she thought she'd be exiled for losing one of her students.'_

'_She won't be, will she?'_ asked Galbatorix. _'I mean… I didn't die.'_

'_Oh, no,'_ said Laela. _'Even if you _had _died, I think everyone would have agreed it was your own fault. Leaf was very stern. He told me I should talk some sense into you.'_

'_I was stupid, wasn't I?'_ Galbatorix admitted. _'I got overexcited. I think I wanted to prove I was better than the elves.'_

'_Hah,'_ said Laela. _'Leaf told me to tell you off about that, too. Your training isn't a competition. You're talented and a quick learner, but you should learn to do as you're told first. Otherwise… well, not doing what you were told made this happen.'_

Galbatorix groaned. _'What are you, my mother?'_

'_I'm your partner,'_ said Laela. She stayed silent for a while, radiating sternness, and then suddenly relaxed and made a little hacking sound that was a dragonish laugh. _'Ah, I'm no good at this,'_ she said. _'I did what Leaf told me to, but it's not really my nature to act like an old dam. Look on the brighter side of this – you're famous.'_

'_Famous?'_

'_Oh yes, very much so,'_ said Laela. _'Everyone talks about it. And every visitor to Ellesméra goes to see your tree. They're calling it the Learning Tree. Carina's been holding all her lessons under it, and she says that next year when the new riders are sent here she'll tell the story of how one of her students was strong enough to make the tree grow that big, but stupid enough to nearly kill himself doing it.'_

'_That's wonderful, Laela. Really. Everyone's talking about what an idiot I am? Thanks for telling me.'_

'_Don't be ridiculous,'_ said Laela. _'Carina might use you as a cautionary tale, but you know perfectly well that when she tells that story to her students they'll smile and wish they could do something so memorable. You'll be a hero to them. Everyone loves a rebel.'_

'_And what about you?' _said Galbatorix. _'You've grown so much, and I missed it. I feel like I hardly know you.'_

'_Of course you know me,'_ Laela chided. _'I'm not just a giant lizard, Galbatorix. I'm a part of you. And you're a part of me. There'll never be a day when we don't see each other. I've been all right. Leaf has taught me how to fight and fly. I've watched your peers learning about swordplay and magic and the ancient language. You have a lot of catching up to do.'_

Galbatorix remembered the training. _'I must be miles behind. Damn!'_

'_Not to worry,'_ said Laela. _'Once you've recovered it'll be time for us to go to Ilirea and begin our apprenticeship.'_

'_They've picked a master for us?'_

'_Yes. Vrael.'_

'_What?'_

'_It's Vrael,'_ Laela repeated patiently. _'Our master will be Vrael and his dragon Nöst.'_

'_But… Vrael's the Great Master Elder,'_ said Galbatorix blankly. _'He rules Alagaësia! How can he be our master?'_

'_I don't know,'_ said Laela. _'They say he hasn't taken on an apprentice in centuries. But he's decided to be our teacher.'_

Galbatorix was thrilled. Vrael himself – the famed leader and warrior, rumoured to have once known Eragon himself. It did a lot to make his brain start working at full speed again. _'When will we go to meet him?'_ he asked.

'_In a few months,'_ said Laela. _'By then you'll be stronger, and I'll be big enough to carry you to Ilirea.'_

'_What about the others?'_

'_They've already gone,'_ said Laela. _'Brom and Morzan went away to be apprenticed to the elder Oromis.'_

'_What about Flell?'_

'_She stayed,'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix sighed. Although he didn't say anything, Laela could sense what he was feeling. _'You like her, don't you?'_ she said, a note of amusement in her voice.

'_Yes.'_ There wasn't any point in concealing it, and she would have known if he'd tried.

'_She seems to care for you,'_ said Laela, matter-of-factly. _'She insisted on staying in Ellesméra so she could be here when you woke up. Not many riders delay their own training by choice like this. So you should be sure to thank her next time you see her.'_

The white dragon paused. _'Which will be very soon,'_ she added. _'She asked me to tell her the instant you woke up. I should tell Carina, too.'_

The white dragon lifted her head and walked gracefully out of the house, turning the door-handle by clumsily hooking a claw around it. Then she was gone into the cool night air, leaving Galbatorix alone. He lay still, wondering why he was so tired after having effectively slept for three weeks straight.

A few minutes passed, and then Laela returned. With her were Carina and Flell, both looking intensely relieved. They went straight to his side, and he looked up at them placidly.

'Galbatorix!' said Flell. 'You're alive!'

The temptation was too great. 'How could you tell?' he asked.

'Hm. You've been awake a few minutes and you're already being sarcastic,' said Carina, but in spite of her dry tone she looked no less pleased than Flell did. 'How d'you feel?'

'Weak,' said Galbatorix.

'And no wonder,' said Carina. 'Do you have any idea how close you came to dying?'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix, at which point Thrain came into the room. The purple dragon was as large as Laela, but was thicker in the body. Less graceful. She stood next to Laela, and the two dragons looked very relaxed and natural together.

'You were a fool,' said Carina simply. 'A damned fool. You do know that, don't you?'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix again.

'I suppose Laela filled you in on what happened,' said Carina.

'She did,' said Galbatorix. He looked over at Flell, who smiled at him.

'Then you should already understand what this means,' said Carina. 'But I want to ask you… why did you do it? You heard me warning you to stop, but you ignored me. What drove you to be so reckless?'

'I wanted…' Galbatorix's voice trailed off.

'Tell me the truth,' said Carina, at her most commanding.

Galbatorix gave in. 'I was trying to prove I was better than the elves,' he said, bracing himself for the response.

Carina sighed. 'Ah. Well, I have to admit that you're not the first to try that. The elves can be… they can make you feel inadequate. Believe me, it was the same when I was a student. But you have to learn to restrain yourself. You acted like a headstrong boy, not a rider. If you're going to be one of us, you'll need to grow up.'

That stung Galbatorix. He scowled and nodded.

'Now then,' said Flell. 'Not being a child means not pouting like one.'

Galbatorix glared at her, and she snickered.

'Stop that,' said Carina. 'Arren – I mean Galbatorix if that's what you'd prefer – it's my duty to tell you that you're banned from using magic again.'

Galbatorix's heart sank.

'-Unless you're being supervised by another magic-user,' said Carina.

Galbatorix had a nasty suspicion she'd paused like that deliberately. 'For how long?' he asked.

'Until we decide that you know what you're doing,' said Carina. 'We don't want to risk another incident like that. You're one of us now. And we value our own a great deal. Especially if they're as talented as you are.'

'Laela said Vrael was going to be my master,' said Galbatorix. 'Is that true?'

'Yes,' said Carina.

'So what do I do now?' asked Galbatorix.

'Rest and recover,' said Carina. 'Here, drink this.' She held out a flask.

Galbatorix tried to take it, but his fingers were clumsy and wouldn't grip. Carina wordlessly poured the flask's contents into his mouth for him, and he swallowed. It tasted strange, but not unpleasant. Almost as soon as it had gone down his throat, he felt new strength surge into him. He sat up with a lot of effort and help from both Carina and Flell, and felt much more lively. He suddenly became aware of something.

'How do you feel now?' asked Flell.

'Hungry,' he said truthfully.

'Then we'll bring you some food,' said Carina. She left.

Flell, however, stayed. 'I thought what you did was amazing,' she said. 'Thrain does, too.'

'_That's right,'_ said Thrain's voice in his head.

Galbatorix smiled. 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome,' said Flell. 'Did Laela tell you about the others?'

'She said Brom and Morzan had left,' said Galbatorix. 'And you should have, too, but-,'

'I decided to stay,' Flell supplied. 'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I didn't want you to be lonely,' said Flell. 'Anyway, we're linked, you and I.'

Galbatorix swallowed. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Vrael is going to be my master, too,' said Flell. 'We might as well start our apprenticeship on the same day.'

'Oh,' said Galbatorix. He was unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Flell laughed at him. 'Don't feel quite so special now, do you? It's traditional for a master to take on two apprentices at once. Anyway… don't you want me around?'

'Oh – no. Uh, I mean, yes. I'd – well, I like you.'

Flell hid her grin behind her hand. 'I do believe the great Galbatorix is blushing,' she said.

Galbatorix went even redder at this. 'Well, I – um… I appreciate what you did for me. By staying, I mean. It means a lot to me.'

Flell smiled. A genuine smile. 'Always the charmer,' she said. She leant over him and kissed him on the cheek, and then sauntered out. Thrain nuzzled Laela's cheek and followed her.

Laela watched them go, and then went to Galbatorix's side. _'That was… I feel strange.'_

'_You and me both,'_ said Galbatorix, touching his cheek.

Carina returned. She was carrying a tray of food, which she placed on Galbatorix's lap. 'Eat,' she said. 'And shave off that beard.'

'What beard?' said Galbatorix blankly.

'The one on your face,' said Carina.

Galbatorix's hand went up automatically to touch his chin. To his surprise, he found it was bristling with hair. But of course. Three weeks was a long time.

'I'll leave you to enjoy your food,' said Carina. 'If you need me, just send Laela to find me.'

Once she'd gone, Galbatorix started to eat. He was hungrier than he would have believed possible, but it was a lot of effort to eat. Just chewing and swallowing took all his energy. And he was irritated by the fact that this meal, just like all the others he'd had in Ellesméra, was meat-free.

'_All those vegetables,'_ said Laela. _'It's unnatural. How can you stand to eat that sort of rubbish?'_

'_Vegetables are fine. But I'd kill for a piece of steak right now.'_

'_I'll catch you something later,'_ said Laela. She watched him for a while, and then shared a feeling of amusement. _'It's a good beard, by the way.'_

'_Why didn't they cut it off?' _asked Galbatorix.

'_Because I wouldn't let them,'_ said Laela. _'I knew you wanted a beard, so I saw to it that you grew one.'_

'_I wish I could see it,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_You can,'_ said Laela. _'Look at yourself through my eyes.'_

'_Through your – how?'_

'_Like this,'_ said Laela. She opened her mind to his, and sent him an image of himself as she saw him at that moment. It was like a memory, but sharper and clearer.

What he saw didn't look like him. He saw a man who had the same black eyes and curly hair as him, but this man was much older than he was. His face was pale and gaunt, framed by a wild mane of uncombed hair. Much of the lower half was covered by a shaggy beard and moustache, which was a terrible mess. Galbatorix was mortified. _'I look awful!'_

'_You look fine to me,'_ said Laela. _'A little too thin, maybe.'_

'_Yes, but you're a dragon! What d'you know about how humans should look? I've seen beggars on the streets who looked neater than me.'_

'_Ah, stop complaining,'_ said Laela. _'You're alive and you'll recover. And you got the beard you wanted.'_

'_No, not quite,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_Close enough,'_ said Laela contentedly.


	7. Through a Dragon's Eye

Chapter Seven

Through a Dragon's Eyes

It took three more days of rest and several more doses of Carina's potion before Galbatorix was able to get out of his hammock and return to life as normal. Or as close to normal as it ever would be, anyway. The first thing he did was have a bath. Then, using the mirror, he made an attempt to trim the beard which Carina so thoroughly disapproved of. He'd never done it before, of course, but he'd been used to cutting his own hair back home, and had done that without a mirror into the bargain. He spent about an hour trying to make it look good, then gave up and shaved it off. His hair, however, he left as it was, merely washing and combing it so that it regained some of its shine. He'd always been very particular about his hair.

Afterwards, wearing a clean set of clothes and feeling much more human, he emerged into the fresh air and picked up where he had left off.

Carina provided him with a number of exercises designed to start rebuilding his muscles, and he began doing these every day. At first he had very little endurance and could only keep it up for half an hour at a time, but as the days passed he slowly improved. His wasted muscles started to rebuild themselves, and he ate well and put on weight. He didn't much enjoy those first few weeks of his recovery, since his weakness made him impatient. He felt like he was being treated like a feeble child, and what made it worse was that he was about as strong as one.

But there were good things about that time, too, and one was Flell. She stayed by him just as Laela did, and so did Thrain. All three of them helped him whenever he needed it, and when he didn't need help they simply provided friendly company. Once he was able to resume his swordplay, Flell became his sparring partner and helped Carina teach him the techniques he'd missed learning with the others. He also began learning how to use other weapons, including a bow.

After three months of this, when he was almost fully restored to his previous strength, Laela too had changed. She had continued to grow steadily – alarmingly so, in fact – and by the end of those three months she was larger than a horse. That was when Carina announced that both Flell and Galbatorix could now begin trying to ride their dragons.

Thrain and Laela were both fitted with simple leather saddles that strapped onto their shoulders. Laela didn't much like hers. _'It chafes,'_ the white dragon complained, shifting around while Carina tied the straps in place.

'_Not as much as your scales would do to me,'_ said Galbatorix

'_You humans and your measly hides,' _Laela jeered. _'Is the blasted thing on yet?'_

'_If I say yes, will you stop moaning?'_

Laela brought her head around in order to glare at him. _'Shut up and climb on,' _she said.

Galbatorix obeyed. It was harder than he'd thought. Her shoulders were above his head by now, and he couldn't find anything to hold onto. Laela stood still for several minutes while he struggled to get into the saddle, and then started to make a strange, hacking sound in the back of her throat. Galbatorix realised that she was laughing at him. _'It's not funny!'_

'_Yes it is,' _said Laela. _'The mighty rider can't get onto his dragon's back! I'll have to carry you in my claws.'_

'_Laela, stop it!' _

The white dragon finally relented and crouched, holding out her foreleg so he could use it as a step. Galbatorix clambered into the saddle. It was surprisingly comfortable. He settled into place, then used the straps provided to anchor his legs to the saddle.

'_How is it?'_ Laela asked.

'_Feels secure enough,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Are you all right?'_

'_You're heavier than I thought, but I'm fine,'_ said Laela.

Meanwhile Flell had seated herself on Thrain's back, and while she fumbled with her own leg-straps Carina said; 'Right. You're ready to go. Try not to fly too far, and don't try any fancy acrobatics until you're a little more confident in the air. Leaf and I will be keeping an eye on you, and we'll come if you need help, but I don't think you'll need it. Now, off you go.'

Galbatorix held on to Laela's neck. He felt the white dragon tense, and then she leapt into the air. The motion was more violent than he'd thought, and he was thrown forward, nearly injuring himself on her neck-spines. There was a rush of wind and thrashing wings, and then they were flying. When that happened, Laela's wings ceased their rough flurry of motion and she straightened them out and began to glide. Galbatorix, clinging on awkwardly with his arms around her neck, didn't dare sit up. The wind tugged at his hair, and his stomach lurched. _'Slow down!'_ he yelled mentally.

'_What's the matter?'_ said Laela. _'We're only gliding.'_

Galbatorix tried to make himself calm down, but he couldn't. He felt sick and dizzy, and a horrible sense of vertigo came over him, as if he were about to fall. At the same time, fear swept through him – horrible, cold, overwhelming fear. Laela, sensing it, made a wide circle and came back down to land where she'd started from. The thump when her talons hit the ground made Galbatorix's stomach heave again. He leaned over Laela's side and was violently ill.

'_Galbatorix! Are you all right?'_

Galbatorix retched again, but managed to contain himself. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic, and slumped back in the saddle, his breathing ragged. _'I'm sorry, Laela,' _he said. _'I don't know what happened.'_

Thrain and Leaf landed nearby, and Carina climbed out of the saddle and ran over to him. 'What happened?'

'_Galbatorix got sick,'_ said Laela. _'I don't think flying agreed with him.'_

Flell had managed to untie her leg-straps, and hurried to see what was going on, Thrain following her. 'Wasn't that amazing?' said Flell. 'Why're we stopping – oh my goodness, are you all right?'

'It's flying sickness,' said Carina. 'This happens sometimes when it's your first flight…'

'Will I be all right?' Galbatorix asked anxiously. 'What's flying sickness?'

'The motion can make people throw up sometimes,' said Carina. 'Don't worry; you'll be fine. But I think we should probably leave it for a while before-,'

Galbatorix was mortified. Riding Laela was going to make him throw up? He felt hot with embarrassment, but then he scowled. 'I'm going to try again,' he said. Without waiting for an answer, he settled himself in the saddle and spoke to Laela. _'Let's try again.'_

'_Are you sure?'_ said Laela, all traces of mockery gone. _'You scared me. I felt all dizzy and frightened when you did. It was confusing.'_

'_I'll be fine,'_ Galbatorix said fiercely. _'What sort of rider can't fly without getting sick? We'll try again.'_

'_All right,'_ said Laela. _'I'll try and take off more gently this time.'_

The white dragon took off. This time the motion was a little smoother, and she caught the first updraught she could find, letting it carry her upward before she settled into a glide, drifting in a wide circle over the treetops.

Galbatorix hung on with his arms around her neck, and fought the queasiness in his stomach, but it did no good. The dizziness returned and he started to panic again, forcing Laela to land.

Carina was waiting for them, and she helped Galbatorix out of the saddle. He clung to her pathetically, feeling like the ground was rushing up to meet him. Carina made him sit down and at her prompting Laela reached into his mind and did her best to soothe him.

He calmed down eventually.

'It's all right,' said Carina. 'Keep your breathing steady. Here, have some water.'

Galbatorix drank from the flask she offered him. To his shame, he found there was a lump in his throat. All his dreams were crashing down around his ears. He couldn't fly!

He slammed his fist into the ground and swore, trying to use anger to mask the fact that his eyes were stinging.

'Don't worry, it's not the end of the world,' said Carina. 'It'll pass, I swear. Lots of riders have this trouble. You'll overcome it.'

Galbatorix wasn't really listening. He thought he could already hear people mocking him. Galbatorix, the rider who was scared of flying. The one who threw up all over his dragon's flank and then cried like a little baby. He thought he could see the sneering face of Lanethial the elf. _Weak, pathetic little human._

He stood up abruptly and strode away, staggering slightly when the ground moved under his feet. Carina made no effort to stop him, and he left the field as fast as he could, heading into the surrounding forest. Once he thought he was out of sight, he slumped down at the base of a tree and sat there, hugging his knees. There were tears on his face, and he angrily wiped them away.

When he looked up at the sky through the trees, he could catch a glimpse of Thrain flying overhead, a mere purple dot among the clouds. No doubt Flell was with her. She'd laugh at him as soon as she came down again, he was sure of it. But now she was enjoying her first flight with her partner, looking down on him as if he were an ant.

The mere thought of being up that high made his nausea return, and he retched and shuddered. He felt like a failure.

There was a thump from behind him, and pain shot through his leg. _'Damn!'_

Galbatorix looked around, and suddenly Laela was there, her warm presence surrounding him. The white dragon lay down beside him, coiling her tail around the tree, her head resting on the ground by his feet. Galbatorix put his hand on her snout, and the feel of her smooth scales under his fingers made him feel better. _'I'm sorry, Laela,' _he said.

Laela looked at him, her silver eyes a little sad. _'No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have done that to you.'_

'_It's _my_ fault!'_ Galbatorix insisted. _'I'm pathetic! How can I be a rider if I panic as soon as I get off the ground?'_ He slammed his palms into his forehead and twined his fingers in his hair, pulling ferociously at it.

Laela flinched. _'That hurts,'_ she told him.

Galbatorix stopped. _'Sorry,'_ he said. _'I forgot you could feel it too… I'm so weak! I didn't deserve to have you hatch for me, Laela. You deserved someone better.'_

Laela started upright at that, so fast it took him by surprise. She pulled herself around and slammed her snout into his chest, pinning him to the tree. Glaring at him, eye to eye, she let out a low growl and bared her teeth. They were white and sharp, glistening in the muted sunlight. _'Never say that,'_ her voice said in his head, suddenly loud and thunderous. _'Don't you _dare_ say that, Galbatorix.'_

Galbatorix tried to pull free, but she pushed even harder, holding him in place so firmly that he felt as if his ribs were breaking. He put his hands on her snout, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to actually try and push it away. But he wasn't cowed. _'Why not?'_ he demanded.

Laela roared. The sound, escaping from between her teeth, echoed among the trees. _'If you think you can insult me, think again. I chose you. And if you tell me I'm stupid enough to make the wrong choice again, I'll bite your head off.'_

She withdrew her snout at last, and Galbatorix managed to stand up. 'You wouldn't dare!' he said out loud.

Laela swung her head down toward him with a blur of motion, and her jaws snapped shut inches from his face. He yelped and fell down, hitting his head on the tree and landing in an undignified heap on its roots. When he looked up, Laela was looking down at him, with amusement in her eyes. _'Wouldn't I?'_

For a moment dragon and human stared at each other, a powerful and tense uncertainty hanging in the air between them. Finally Galbatorix reached up toward Laela. He took hold of her snout, and she lifted her head, pulling him upward until he was hanging in the air. She lowered him gently onto his feet, and he dusted the leaves off his tunic.

'_All right,'_ he said. _'I shouldn't have said that.'_

There was a moment's painful silence, and then Galbatorix laughed, feeling all his fear and anger melt away. _'You,'_ he said. _'You're _awful, _Laela.'_

'_And _you_ are too hard on yourself,' _said Laela. _'Way too hard. I thought you were the toughest human I ever met, but after one thing goes wrong you act as if the world's coming to an end. _That's_ the only thing you did today that was pathetic.'_

'_But I threw up,'_ said Galbatorix. He glanced at the revolting gunk still clinging to Laela's scales. _'And everyone _saw_ me. What will they think?'_

'_Who cares?'_ said Laela. _'The mighty Galbatorix shouldn't. _I_ don't.' _

Galbatorix relaxed and grinned. _'How am I going to put up with you for the next five hundred years, Laela?'_

'_With difficulty, I think,'_ said Laela. _'Now, will you promise to stop being stupid or do I have to shout at you again?'_

Galbatorix threw up his hands in mock defeat. _'Do I have any choice?'_

'_No. Now clean this muck off me.'_

Over the next few days, Galbatorix had to work at finding a solution to his problem. Obviously he couldn't go to Ilirea and begin his proper training until he was able to fly, and that meant having to overcome the flying sickness in some way or another.

Carina was prepared to be easy on him and kept telling him to take things slowly and worry about it later, but he didn't pay much attention to this. As far as he was concerned, this was a problem that had to be dealt with _now_, and putting it off would only make it harder.

The elves had various potions that could dull fear and suppress nausea and dizziness, and at first he was content to try these. It meant that his first true flight on Laela passed in a kind of daze. He spent most of it half-asleep and only vaguely aware of what was going on, and afterwards he could hardly remember it. When the potion wore off and he realised that he had as good as missed his first flight, he furiously vowed that he wouldn't touch another one. Those only treated the symptoms, not the disease, and he saw clearly enough that the only way to cure it was to find some way of dealing with his fear of flying.

To his surprise, Flell didn't make fun of him over it. In fact she was startlingly sympathetic. She would talk to him to try and encourage him, and at first she attempted to, more or less, talk him out of his phobia. It didn't work, of course, but he appreciated her concern. Once she realised that she wouldn't be able to cure him, she simply let him know that she was around and would help him if she could, and just let her presence lend him some comfort and support. Galbatorix was glad to have her there.

As for Carina, she seemed almost completely useless. She took no part in Galbatorix's struggles and in fact appeared to be almost wholly disinterested. She watched over him as he tried and failed to master his fear, occasionally making vague suggestions but otherwise doing nothing but watch. But she had a good reason for doing so. The truth was that she knew what he should do to solve his problem, but she knew that if she simply told him she would rob him of this chance to solve a problem by working with his dragon. He and Laela were already linked in the mind, but no rider could understand this link straight away. That was something that had to be learned. Even now Carina was still discovering more about Leaf and her relationship with him, and she knew that if Galbatorix and Laela did this on their own it would be an important step toward their maturing as a pair.

In the end, it was Laela who found the answer. One afternoon, when Galbatorix rejoined her after a day of sword-practise, she fell into step beside him and said; _'So, how did it go?'_

'_Good,'_ said Galbatorix. _'We practised blocking today. Flell's terrible at it. What did you do?'_

'_Went flying over the Stone of Broken Eggs,'_ said Laela. _'It gave me time to think. And I think I've come up with a solution to our problem.'_

She should have said 'your' problem, Galbatorix thought, but it was one of her most endearing habits to accept his problem as hers as well. _'What is it, Laela?'_

'_I don't have any problems when I fly alone,'_ said Laela. _'And today I was wishing I could bring you with me and show you the world from above. It's beautiful. And then I realised I could. Our minds are one, aren't they? And I thought, if I can't bring you with me in body, maybe I can bring you in spirit. If we deepen the connection, if I let you see through my eyes, you can feel what it's like to fly without doing it outside of your head. And then maybe you can stop being afraid of it. If you feel how I feel when I'm in the air…'_

Galbatorix's heart leapt. _'Laela, you're a genius! Why didn't we think of that before? It's so simple!'_

Laela flicked her wings smugly. _'It takes a genius to think of something simple. When shall we try it?'_

Galbatorix felt himself nearly quivering with excitement. _'Now.'_

'_Fine,'_ said Laela. _'Where shall we go? I thought somewhere high up, maybe over that way.'_ She indicated the mountains behind Einás' home.

'_Are you joking? It'd take hours to walk that far!'_

'_Oh,'_ said Laela. _'I forgot… it takes hardly any time to fly there, but… what about a tree, then? You know how to climb those.'_

Galbatorix grinned. _'You remember that?'_

'_Of course.'_

They walked together into the forest, away from the elvish dwellings and into a grove of tall pines. Galbatorix found one that looked suitable, and pulled himself up into its branches without much trouble. While Laela waited below, he climbed as high as he could and finally sat down in a comfortable fork, wedging himself between it and the trunk.

'_Are you settled yet?'_ Laela asked.

'_Yes.'_ As he spoke, Galbatorix made the mistake of looking down at her. He gasped – he hadn't realised how high up he was.

'_Calm down!'_ said Laela. _'Don't look!'_

Galbatorix sat back against the tree-trunk, gripping its rough bark. His heart was pounding, and he breathed slowly and deeply, forcing himself to calm down.

'_That's it,'_ said Laela. _'Be calm. If you fall, I'll catch you.'_

'_Are you sure?'_

'_Always, Galbatorix, always. I promise.'_

Galbatorix sighed and relaxed, feeling Laela's strength inside him. She was sharing it, giving him the confidence he didn't have.

'_Thankyou,' _he said.

He felt Laela's satisfaction. _'I'll find a clear spot and take off.'_

Galbatorix waited in the tree, and a few minutes later Laela said; _'All right. I'm ready to take off. Open your mind.'_

Galbatorix didn't hesitate for long. He sat back and opened the mental channel between them as he had done before when sharing memories with Laela. She let him into her mind, and he delved into it, immersing himself in her consciousness. But this time there was more than just contact. Laela drew him into herself, pulling his mind into hers. He began to see a flickering vision of what she was seeing over the top of his own view, and to hear her breathing in his ears. He could smell the trees all around, much more keenly than before. Simultaneously, his arms and legs started to go numb. He tried to move his fingers, but they were clumsy and unresponsive. _'This is strange-,'_ he started to say.

And then, all of a sudden, he was inside Laela.

He lost all sense of his own body. He could no longer feel the tree bark under him, or the broken twig that was digging into his leg. What he saw in front of him flowed smoothly into something else. Now, instead of the bark and pine-needles that were in front of him, he was seeing green grass dotted with flowers. And it looked strange. Sharper, clearer, more defined. He could see further than he ever had before. And he could smell, too. The breeze brought him a hundred different scents – pine sap, rich soil and pollen, the soft smell of a bird perched somewhere close, a remnant of deer-scent from one that had passed this way hours before, and the sweet scent of elves.

And he could feel what it was like to be in Laela's body. Suddenly, his shoulders were heavy and powerful and his back arched. He had wings; he could feel them there on his back. There was a tail, too, swishing restlessly behind him. And he had claws.

'_Are you all right?'_ said Laela's voice. Or was it his voice? He wasn't quite sure.

'_Fine,'_ he said. _'This is amazing! Is this really what it's like to be you?'_

'_It certainly is,'_ said Laela. After a short silence she added; _'What do you think?'_ She sounded almost anxious.

'_You're so strong,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I feel like I could fight an army!'_

'_Oh, we could,' _said Laela. _'We can do anything. Now… shall we fly?'_

Galbatorix only hesitated a moment. _'Yes!'_

'_All right,' _said Laela, and he felt a thrill of excitement. Was it his or hers? He didn't know. They had always shared feelings, but this was something else altogether.

He felt his wings open. No, no, _Laela's_ wings, he reminded himself. But there didn't seem to be much difference right now. His legs – _her_ legs – bunched themselves under him – _her –_ and he – they – leapt into the air. Laela's wings beat powerfully, lifting her off the ground, up and up until she… until they were over the treetops. Galbatorix felt an automatic twinge of fear, but it was overwhelmed by Laela's own certainty. _This_ stomach didn't lurch, and this body didn't get dizzy.

And then he was flying. He looked out through Laela's eyes and saw the trees below him, dark green and spiked upward toward the sky. It was so beautiful!

'_How are you doing?'_ Laela's voice asked.

'_Do you need to ask? Can't you already tell?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. _'Yes, I can feel it. You're fine.'_ She grinned mentally. _'Let me show you the world from above.'_

The white dragon ascended, circling ever higher over the forest until the air grew cold and the trees were tiny, an entire forest reduced to a patch of moss on the ground. At long last Galbatorix saw the world from above, just as she did. And he wasn't afraid.

He felt a fierce joy rushing through them both like hot blood, and as Laela began to swoop and soar, diving and rising once more in a fantastic midair dance, Galbatorix let out a wild, ecstatic laugh.

But the sound didn't come from his own throat, but from Laela's. He felt her body, _their_ body, tense, and he was afraid. Or was Laela afraid? No, both of them were afraid.

'_Galbatorix, do you know the way back?'_ said Laela's voice. She sounded panic-stricken.

Galbatorix tried to answer, but he couldn't remember how. All he could feel was what Laela felt, which was terror.

'_Galbatorix! Answer me! Can you reach your own body? Speak, dammit, speak!'_

Galbatorix reached out, looking for his body, but he couldn't find it. Utterly confused, he tried to grab for it with his hands. Instead, he saw and felt Laela's front claws start to snatch at the air. He yelled, and Laela's harsh bellowing roar split the air. A mental voice said; _'No, can't, wait, where am I? What's going on?'_ it wasn't his, or hers. It was theirs.

Galbatorix, flailing wildly with his mind and trying to make his body move again, found himself suddenly controlling one that was completely unfamiliar to him. Laela's wings crumpled as he realised he didn't know how to make them work, and the next moment they were both plummeting from the sky, sharing a psychic scream.

Galbatorix blinked with a pair of eyes that weren't his, and saw the ground rushing toward him. He screamed, but not a sound escaped from his jaws.

Mere seconds before they were dashed against the ground, Laela's wings opened again. They caught the air, and they shot upward and then descended, half-flying and half-falling. And then, pain rifled through him in a horrible, jarring shock.

Moments later they hit the trees, crashing downward in a mass of painful thumps and breaking branches before they slammed onto the ground.

_Thump_.

The shock made everything go red and black for a second, and then they were lying on the ground with their legs crumpled beneath them.

For a time they lay still, listening to their ragged, shocked breathing. Then Galbatorix felt himself stand up and shake his wings experimentally. They were painful and there was a tear in the left membrane, but they were otherwise intact. He made a shuddering sigh and rubbed his face with his claws. His head ached, and…

'_Are you still in here?'_ it was Laela's voice, thin and nervous.

Galbatorix tried to remember what words meant. It was hard. He couldn't remember how he had got here. Was he a dragon? He tried to move his tail, and felt it flick once, smacking onto the leaf-litter.

'_Stop it!'_ Laela said sharply. _'You've got to go back to your own body. Galbatorix? Can you talk?'_

Galbatorix! _That_ was who he was! _'Laela? Where am I?'_

'_Galbatorix,'_ said Laela, and he felt immensely relieved when she said it. Or… no. No, that wasn't him. _Laela_ was feeling relieved, not him. _'Thank the sea and sky. I thought I'd lost you.'_

'_What happened?'_ said Galbatorix. _'Where am I? What's going on? I think I'm lost…'_

'_You _are_ lost,'_ said Laela. _'You're in my body.'_

'_Well then, where's mine? Was I flying?'_

'_No. _I _was flying.'_ Their flanks were quivering with fright. _'I didn't know something like this could happen. I got confused all of a sudden… couldn't remember what was going on, and then I couldn't control my body any more. If I hadn't managed to get it back before we hit the ground, we'd be dead.'_

'_I was trying to fly,'_ said Galbatorix. _'But I didn't know how, and then I fell…'_

'_No!'_ said Laela. _'I was flying! You don't know how because you're not me! You're Galbatorix, you're a human, don't you remember? This isn't your body, it's mine.'_

'_Then where's mine?'_ Galbatorix asked piteously.

'_It's here somewhere,'_ said Laela. _'I think it might be hurt. Just relax, and don't try to move.'_

They walked off through the trees, scenting the air. And though Galbatorix did his best to stay passive as Laela had told him to, his presence still hindered the white dragon. She walked unsteadily, bumping into the trees, stumbling as if she were drunk. But all the while she talked to Galbatorix.

'_Don't forget,'_ she kept saying. _'Remember, Galbatorix. Remember when I hatched for you? It was on the Day of the First Hatching, in Ellesméra. You were nervous, you thought you might not be chosen. You felt sorry for Brom because none of the eggs chose him. There was a storm that night, remember? And you laughed at Flell because she was scared of the thunder. Remember when we sat in the willow tree together and you found out my name? Remember that, Galbatorix? You showed me your memories and I showed you mine. Do you remember?'_

'_I… think I do.'_

'_Just say your name,'_ said Laela. _'Don't let go of it, Galbatorix. Say it.'_

'_Why?'_

'_Because it's who you are.'_

'_No,' _said Galbatorix. _'No, it's not. It's not my name. I have a true name. It's… I am… I am Fárbjóđr. That's my name. Yes… Fárbjóđr. And you… you're Freslae. Those are our names.'_

For a moment they were confused, but then certainty replaced it and Laela said. _'Yes. Yes, Galbatorix, you're right. Those are our names. Our true names. You found them.'_

'_I found them,'_ said Galbatorix. He repeated the names to himself, and for some reason the thought of them helped him hold onto himself and remember that he was not Laela.

At long last, he scented through Laela's nostrils and found an odour that was familiar.

They hurried on through the forest to the base of a tall tree, and there they found…

Galbatorix looked through Laela's eyes and saw a human teenager, clad in black, spreadeagled on the rough ground. In the instant, everything came rushing back.

'_That's me!'_ he exclaimed.

Laela touched her nose to the boy's chest. No, to _his_ chest. It was cold and still, but he could feel a faint, slow heartbeat. He was still alive.

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. _'We've found you. Galbatorix, you have to go back into your body. If you don't, it'll die and we'll be stuck like this for good.'_

Galbatorix tried. He concentrated on his body, looking at it with Laela's silver eyes, willing himself to go into it. But he didn't know how. There was no way back. He was trapped inside Laela's head. _'I can't,'_ he said, his mental voice breaking. _'I can't do it. I can't. I don't know what to do.'_

Despair overwhelmed him, deep and cold, and as Laela's body shuddered with his sobs he thought he saw a brief snatch of some vision, shimmering in their entwined minds. He saw Laela, lying alone in the snow, her head slumped low and her wings useless as snowflakes melted on her scales. She looked at him, and he realised she was dying.

'_NO!'_

He never knew which one of them said it. But then Laela was raging, snarling, her teeth bared. _'This can't happen! You have to go back, Galbatorix, you have to! Don't do this to me!' _She wrapped her foreclaws around his body, clutching it tightly to her chest, and the instant she did, he felt pain.

'_That hurts!'_ he said. _'Stop it, Laela, you're crushing me!'_

Laela froze. _'That's it…'_ she whispered. _'Yes! That's it!'_ She gripped him still more tightly, and he felt her claws sticking into him, bruising him.

'_Laela, stop!'_

But she wouldn't. She set him down again and began prodding him with the tips of her claws, saying; _'Feel it! Let yourself feel it! _Use_ the pain, Galbatorix!'_

'_I don't understand!'_ Galbatorix almost wailed. _'Stop hurting me!'_

'_The pain is a channel!'_ said Laela. _'You can still feel your body! Use it!'_

Galbatorix tried, but his mind wouldn't focus. _'I can't!'_

'_You _can!_'_ said Laela. _'I know you can. Open your eyes.'_

'_They're already open!'_

'_OPEN YOUR EYES!'_ Laela commanded.

Galbatorix struggled inside her head. He could feel pain stabbing into his chest. _His_ chest, not Laela's. _Open your eyes,_ he thought desperately. _Make them open!_

The pain was a channel. It was a path. He had to ride it. _Open your eyes, Galbatorix, open your eyes…_

And then there was a way through. He saw the black-haired boy on the ground open his eyes, and then…

A scream shattered the silence. For a fraction of a second there was a mass of confused sensations, and then he sat upright with a violent, convulsive jerk. He could hear quick, gasping breathing. _His_ breathing. And there was Laela, looking down at him.

'_Are you all right?'_ her voice asked urgently.

Galbatorix blinked, then began frantically patting himself down. He was all there. Arms, legs, face, chest… he winced when he touched his ribcage. It was aching madly. So was his back, and his head. But he was alive, and in his body again, and once the initial confusion cleared he had never been so relieved in his life.

He focused on Laela. 'Freslae… Laela. Oh, gods, I thought I'd never get back.'

Laela peered at him uncertainly, and he could feel her prodding his mind, apparently checking that it was really him in there. Then she laughed wildly and scooped him up in her claws, rolling over onto her back and hugging him to her. _'You're all right! Thank the sky and the stars you're all right!'_

Galbatorix, crushed against her chest, could feel her heart pounding like a great drum. He did his best to hug her back, though she was much too large for his arms to wrap around her, and although this was probably the most uncomfortable embrace he'd ever been subjected to in his life he didn't care a bit. He could feel Laela's joy… no, their joy, filling him, and it was wonderful. He was alive.

Laela put him down at last. _'Can you walk?'_ she asked eagerly.

Galbatorix struggled upright. His back was extremely painful, but he could stand. _'I think I can walk,'_ he said. _'What about you? Are you all right, Laela?'_

'_Fine,' _said Laela. _'Better than fine. I've got you out of my head and back where you belong, and… oh, that was terrible. I thought I was going mad! I couldn't control my own body properly with you in it! You kept trying to use it yourself!'_

'_Sorry.'_

'_Sorry?'_ said Laela. _'You almost got us killed, you dope!'_

But she didn't sound even slightly angry.

'_You didn't get hurt, did you?' _Galbatorix persisted. _'Can you walk?'_

Laela rolled onto her stomach and stood up. _'I'm a little bruised, but I can walk.'_

Galbatorix grinned. _'Ah, but can you run?'_ Without waiting for an answer, he dashed off through the forest as fast as he could go. He ached all over; he was bruised and cut and his back twinged from his fall out of the tree, but he had never welcomed pain so much in his life.

'_Oh no you don't!'_ Laela shouted, and he heard a great rush of air and crushing leaves as she started to run after him.

Laughing, he dodged nimbly around the trees, teasing her, and she chased him, roaring in mock-rage. They ran together, human and dragon both, sharing both pain and pleasure, fear and joy, calling back and forth. _'Can you run, Laela, can you run?'_

'_I can run, Galbatorix.'_

'_And can you catch me?'_

'_Can you get away from me? No! Because wherever you go… I'll be waiting.'_

'_Do you promise you'll be there, Laela?'_

'_Always, Galbatorix. Always. Always and always. You can't ever shake me off, never!'_

They ran on, teasing each other, and finally Galbatorix emerged into an open field. He ran on, glorying in the light of the setting sun. Laela came out from among the trees, and without stopping she opened her wings and launched herself into the air. Skimming just above the ground, she caught up with him. She wrapped her claws around him, lifting him off his feet, and flew straight up like an arrow.

Galbatorix hung from Laela's grasp, the wind tugging at his clothes and hair. He could feel the wind rushing past him, and see the ground falling away below his dangling feet. He was flying! And he felt no fear at all, only exhilaration.

He whooped aloud, holding onto Laela's claws and watching the world beneath him get smaller and smaller. He saw something that had once terrified him, and laughed. This time Laela didn't ask him if he was all right. She didn't need to. She knew.

Together, bathed in the light of a glorious red sunset, Galbatorix and Laela flew.

13


	8. Nightmares and Fairths

Chapter Eight

Nightmares and Fairths

Neither Galbatorix nor Laela ever told anyone about what had happened to them. Both of them understood the enormity of it, so much so that they were unwilling to even talk about it between themselves. That evening, when he had retired to his quarters, Galbatorix consulted his books, looking for some explanation. Laela was now too big to fit inside, but he opened the window next to his bed and she rested her head on the sill by his shoulder and watched patiently while he read.

At length, Galbatorix looked up from the last book. 'Nothing,' he said out loud. 'Nothing in any of them. This one talks about how the psychic bond works, but it doesn't say anything about losing contact with your own body.'

'_What _does_ it say?'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix switched to his mental voice. _'It says… uh… the language is a little old-fashioned… "being in mental contact with thy dragon at all times be a powerful thing, and not always for the good. Be thou able to open thy mind to that of thy dragon, thou wilt find the means by which to share both memory and emotion. But beware lest thou makest the connection too deep, for thou shalt taketh the risk of losing thy view of the world around thee and thus making thyself vulnerable to attack. Be ye ever careful, Argetlam"… Who writes like this?'_

'_It's just telling us what we already know,'_ said Laela. She snorted. _'Losing track of where you are… that's nothing compared to what we did today.'_

'_Wait a minute,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I've found something. "Although a shared mind is indeed a great gift, one which goes beyond mere friendship and love, thou must be always aware that thee and thy dragon still be two beings. One mind to one body saith the ancient law. At the moment of death, some riders have sought to shelter their dragon's mind within their own… such a thing be an abomination in the eyes of men and elves and shall mean death for the one who so defileth himself". What does _that _mean?'_

They were silent for a time, thinking.

'_I think it means… well, what if one of us died?'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix shuddered. _'That's not funny, Laela. Don't even talk about it.'_

'_But remember what Carina said?'_

Galbatorix did. According to his teacher, if a rider or his dragon died, it almost always meant death for the other. Feeling a part of yourself die was probably the most painful thing anyone could ever experience, and had driven some riders or dragons insane or simply killed them outright. But what this book seemed to be suggesting was that a rider could take his dragon's mind into his own body to save it, or vice versa.

If that was true, he could see why it was considered obscene. And it would never work. Two minds in one body was a nightmare, and he promised himself there and then that he would never even consider trying it again.

'_We did that today,'_ he said, shivering. _'I didn't know…'_

'_Neither did I,'_ said Laela. He could feel her rage. _'Why didn't they tell us something like that could happen?'_

'_Maybe they didn't think of it,'_ Galbatorix suggested lamely.

Laela snorted. _'Idiots. I tell you, Galbatorix, I'm not trusting what they say again.'_

Galbatorix stroked his chin thoughtfully. It was strange to think that his teachers weren't infallible. But, paradoxically, he suddenly felt a little burst of pride. _'We found a way out on our own,'_ he said. _'It's amazing, really. We thought of a solution. I mean, _you_ thought of one. You're brilliant, Laela.'_

Laela blinked. _'I hadn't thought of it like that.' _She grinned unexpectedly. _'We're brilliant, you and I. Nothing and no-one ever stops us.'_

Galbatorix lay back, setting aside the books. He couldn't stop himself from grinning as well. Brilliant. Yeah.

That night, when he had retired to his hammock and Laela was curled up outside, Galbatorix had a dream. More than a dream. A nightmare.

He saw himself lying at the base of the tree, pale and limp as death. He was looking down at himself, unable to speak, and when he tried to reach out his hand was as insubstantial as a shadow. A silent scream echoed in the darkness. _No! Wake up, open your eyes! Help me!_

But there was no-one there to help. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, slower and slower, gradually weakening. Then it stopped. _Wake up!_ he yelled. _You have to wake up! Open your eyes!_

There was no answer. No-one who cared. He stood there, utterly alone, looking at his own dead body and crying out for help, appealing to the shadows all around. No-one and nothing was there. Only darkness, and smothering, silent cold. _Open your eyes!_

His own dead body twitched, and the eyes snapped open with a loud _bang._ But the eyes that stared at him from that pale, dead face weren't his, but Laela's.

And then he was falling. Faster and faster, the ground rushing up to meet him, he fell, staring at nothing, unable even to cry out. And the ground didn't touch him. It was always coming closer, but he never hit it. He only fell, forever and ever.

Laela suddenly appeared, falling beside him, a white beacon in the darkness.

_HELP ME!_ he screamed. _HELP ME, LAELA! SAVE ME!_

Laela looked at him with terrible sadness. _I can't,_ she said. _I'm sorry, Galbatorix. I have to go._

Her eyes sank into her head, and she turned into the iron amulet he'd been given that day in Teirm before crumbling into dust, her scales blowing away in the wind.

_LAELA!_

_Thump_. Galbatorix woke up with a start. After a second or two of panicked bewilderment, he found himself on the floor, tangled up in the remains of his hammock. One of the ropes holding it up must have broken, he realised.

'_Galbatorix? What happened?'_

'_Laela,'_ he sighed. _'There you are… had a bad dream. Sorry I woke you up.'_

'_I had one too,'_ said Laela. _'It's lucky you woke me… I was about to break down the wall to get at you.'_

Galbatorix got up, disentangling himself from his bedding, and went outside. He found Laela curled up on the dewy grass under his window in obvious distress, the light of the full moon shining on her scales. He crouched by her head, touching her to comfort her.

She sighed deeply. _'What did you dream?'_

'_It was-,'_

'_No,'_ said Laela. _'Don't tell me. Show me.'_

Galbatorix summoned up the memory of his dream, and he showed it to her as best he could. It was easy now.

Laela examined the faint images, and he felt her solemn response to them. _'This is what I saw,'_ she said.

Galbatorix closed his eyes, the better to see what she wanted to show him. He saw a vision of himself. In Laela's dream he was taller and stronger than he really was, with a boy's eyes in a man's face. He was clad all in white with a white sword in his hand, and he was surrounded by shadowy forms. They lunged at him, attacking him, and he fought back, screaming defiance, his white sword cutting them down but remaining unstained. But the enemies were everywhere. Their weapons opened deep wounds on him, and his white clothes slowly darkened with blood. He held out his right hand, and the gedwëy ignaesia glowed with white energy to strike down his enemies. But the instant it struck them it turned red and then black, and they only grew stronger when it touched them.

The shadows closed in on him, and he swung the white sword at them. It killed many of them, but then its blade began to bleed. His wounds gushed blood, and his white clothes turned to pitch black. Only a tiny patch of white remained, right over his heart. The sword blackened and then crumbled to dust, and he saw himself fall beneath the shadows, his eyes full of terror as they tore him to pieces. In the dream, Laela was nearby, watching it all. She cried out his name, trying desperately to reach him, but some unseen force held her back, and all she could do was struggle in vain as she watched him die.

The dream ended there. When Galbatorix opened his eyes, he looked blankly at the wall of his little home. It was covered in deep gouges.

'_You were trying to save me.'_

Laela looked at him with terrible fear. He could feel her shuddering under his hands. _'It was horrible,'_ she said. _'I thought… I thought it was real, and… what if I lost you? I couldn't bear it.'_

Galbatorix sat down, hugging her desperately. _'It's all right, Laela,'_ he said. _'I'm here. I won't leave you, I swear.'_

Laela looked up at him. _'Promise?'_ she asked with a tone of almost pathetic entreaty.

'_Yes,'_ said Galbatorix. He sat there for a few moments longer, then got up and vanished back into his temporary home, closing the door behind him. Laela sat there alone, staring at the door. She found herself fighting back tears.

But, a few minutes later, the door opened and Galbatorix re-emerged, carrying an armful of blankets. Without saying anything, he constructed a little bed for himself on the ground by her flank and curled up in it, resting his head on her neck. Laela spread her wing over him and coiled her tail around him. He wrapped his arms around it and fell asleep a short while later, hugging it to his chest.

Not long afterward, Laela too slept.

Next morning, Galbatorix was woken up by the sound of someone knocking on his door. He sat up sharply, only to find that he wasn't in his house. He was in a small white… tent, by the looks of it. Then he realised that the nearest wall was breathing, and remembered.

He looked out from under Laela's wing, and saw Carina standing with her back to him. She was looking in through the window of his temporary home, and a moment later she went back to try the door again.

'I'm over here,' Galbatorix called.

Carina looked around sharply, in time to see Galbatorix emerge from his shelter and stretch. Laela re-folded her wing and stood up, shaking herself awake.

'There you are,' said Carina. She looked him up and down, and to his embarrassment Galbatorix realised he was still in his nightshirt. 'What are you doing out here?'

Galbatorix coughed and started to gather up the blankets. 'I was keeping Laela company. She got a bit scared. Oof!'

He got up, rubbing his back, and glared at Laela. She looked back innocently.

Carina smiled. 'Well, go inside and get dressed. I was thinking we should have another try at flying today.'

Galbatorix and Laela glanced at each other, and then started to laugh.

'What?' said Carina. 'What's so funny?'

Galbatorix shook his head, still laughing, and retreated indoors. Not long later he re-emerged, wearing his usual black tunic and trousers and his old boots and carrying Laela's saddle under his arm. Without a word, he went straight to her and began strapping the thing in place. Once it was on he climbed into it and looked down at Carina.

'See if you can catch us,' he said.

Laela leapt into the air. Carina, backing away to avoid the white dragon's thrashing wings, watched them go with amazement. Laela circled lazily over the treetops, and Carina could see Galbatorix seated confidently on her back, showing no signs of fear. She smiled. They had done it.

Laela turned in the air, her movements full of grace and power. Then she dived. She came rushing straight over Carina's head and then shot up again. As Carina ducked instinctively, she heard Galbatorix shout; 'Can you catch us?'

Carina straightened up and smoothed down her hair with a dignified hand. But as she watched Laela showing off, she found her spirit rising as it hadn't done for years.

'_Leaf! Where are you?'_

There was a pause, then Leaf replied. _'I'm coming, Carina.'_

A few seconds later the green dragon appeared over the treetops. He landed by Carina, his eyes on Laela and Galbatorix. Carina sensed his pleased surprise. _'So they did it.'_

'_Yeah,'_ said Carina. _'And now they're showing off.'_

'_Hatchlings are all the same,'_ said Leaf, shaking his head.

'_We're not that much older, though, are we?'_ said Carina. _'I fancy a little fun. Shall we put them in their place?'_

Leaf glanced at her, bright-eyed. _'With pleasure.'_

Carina vaulted into the saddle, and the dragon took off in a flurry of wings. He caught an updraught, straightened out, and began to chase Laela. She saw him coming and flew off, whooping. Sitting on her shoulders, Galbatorix glanced back and saw Carina, her brown hair streaming in the wind. She was grinning wickedly at him. Then, to his surprise, she made mental contact with him. _'We'll catch you all right,'_ she said.

Galbatorix raised his eyebrows. _'Come on, then!'_ he yelled back. _'We'll give you a run for your money… Laela! Let's go!'_

Laela put her head down. _'Hold on tight.'_

The white dragon shot forward. Leaf did likewise. Galbatorix and Carina held on, and Leaf and Laela began to chase each other. Laela flew fast and recklessly, looping and diving like a swallow. But Leaf matched her dive for dive. Laela sped up and then dipped below the trees where the bigger dragon couldn't follow, mocking him with a grin. Galbatorix lay flat against her neck, gritting his teeth when passing branches smacked into him, and Laela broke up through the canopy again and executed a fantastic backwards loop, up and over and under.

That was a mistake. Although she was only upside-down for a moment, the violent motion took Galbatorix by surprise. And he hadn't strapped his legs into the saddle. He lost his hold and went tumbling from Laela's back, yelling in terror.

But Laela was quick. She let her loop carry her straight under him, and he landed back in the saddle. He nearly fell off the side, but Laela brought her head around and nudged him back into place, and flew on, having scarcely paused. Galbatorix hastily strapped himself in place, and Laela and Leaf flew on, hooting like a pair of youngsters.

The elves on the ground were watching, many climbing into the trees for a better view. Galbatorix could hear them cheering and shouting encouragement. His fright over his fall was swept away by Laela's exhilaration, and he wondered where his terror and his sickness had gone. He seemed to have lost it somewhere the previous day. Now he gloried in the wind rushing past his ears, and the feeling of weightlessness didn't make him feel ill or dizzy. His fear of flying had been replaced by Laela's joy, as though he'd lost a piece of himself.

That only bothered him for a moment. Fear was something he was glad to lose, especially now. Especially now, when he knew what it was really like to fly.

As Laela beat her wings, he had a strange feeling. Not a bad one. He thought he could feel a pair of phantom wings on his own back, beating in unison with hers. He reached back automatically to touch them, but there was nothing there.

'_How do you feel?'_ Laela asked him.

Galbatorix smiled. _'Like I have wings.'_

'_You do!' _Laela crowed.

As they circled back over Ellesméra, they saw Thrain on the ground. Flell was standing beside her, and both were gawping at them.

'Come on!' Galbatorix bellowed.

Laela roared at Thrain, challenging the other dragon, and then she shot up once more with Leaf in close pursuit. They reached the outer edge of Ellesméra and circled back, flying straight under Leaf and away, back the way they'd come. When they passed over Flell's lodgings again, Thrain rose into the air to join them, Flell seated on her back.

The purple dragon, riding on Laela's slipstream, spoke directly to Galbatorix for the first time. _'You did it!'_

'We_ did it,'_ he corrected. He caught Flell's eye and waved to her, saying; _'Let's show Leaf what we can do!'_ he was speaking to Laela and Thrain as well.

Flell glanced back and saw Leaf rushing toward them. She looked Galbatorix and grinned, then lay low on Thrain's neck. Thrain hurtled forward.

For the rest of the morning, Laela, Thrain and Leaf flew over Ellesméra, their riders hanging on and shouting taunts and challenges at each other. It was half a game and half a lesson – after a while Carina and Leaf began to offer advice and suggest new moves for the two younger dragons to try. Laela and Thrain listened, and for the first time Galbatorix found out what it was really like to be a rider in the air.

It was like riding the wind. On the ground Laela was fairly slow-moving, even clumsy; he could outrun her without much trouble. But in the sky… that was where she came to life. She flew as if it were a dance, weaving among the clouds with the liquid grace of a snake, her scales white as snow and her wings the faintest, softest silver. She outpaced both Thrain and Leaf, and though Leaf was much larger than her she could outmanoeuvre him with ease.

Hunger and tiredness finally forced the green dragon to land, and Thrain landed beside him. Laela stayed hovering overhead for a few minutes, then landed, panting and grinning. Leaf bowed his head briefly to her. _'You are indeed an impressive flier, Laela.'_

Galbatorix undid the leg-straps and half-fell out of the saddle. He managed to land on his feet, but only managed to stay upright by leaning on Laela's foreleg. He was chilled and hungry, his muscles were sore from holding on and he had horrible pins and needles in both legs… but he'd never felt better in his life.

Flell, however, quickly helped him top that. She dismounted, ran over to him and hugged him, so fiercely she nearly knocked him over. 'You're _amazing!'_ she exclaimed. 'How did you do it?' Without waiting for an answer, she kissed him on both cheeks. 'And that thing where you jumped out of the saddle and then Laela caught you – that was _fantastic!_ I thought I was going to faint!'

'But I-,' Galbatorix began. Laela nudged him mentally. 'Oh,' he said. 'Well, you know, it was nothing…'

Flell let go of him and punched him playfully in the arm. 'I _knew_ you'd do it eventually. You're a rider good an' proper now.'

Thrain lumbered over and nuzzled Laela in the shoulder, draping a pale violet wing over her neck in a kind of dragonish hug. Laela growled in an affectionate kind of way, and the two dragons wrestled, trying to push each other over before giving in to exhaustion and sitting back on their haunches, side-by-side, their tails intertwined. Flell linked arms with Galbatorix and looked triumphantly at Carina. She had climbed down from Leaf's back and was looking quite tired. But she smiled on her students.

'Well done,' she said. 'Very well done. You both flew very well. And you overcame your fear, Galbatorix, with Laela's help.'

'I did,' said Galbatorix, smiling and glancing at Laela, who looked back approvingly.

'You understand that I could have helped you solve your problem,' said Carina. 'But I knew that if I gave you the chance you'd find a way on your own. I was right.'

Galbatorix glanced at Laela again. They shared a feeling of outrage. Carina had _known_ they would do what they had done? And hadn't bothered to warn them?

But pride made Galbatorix say; 'We managed it,' in the most casual voice he could muster.

'Don't tell me how you did it,' Carina added, though he hadn't suggested that he was going to. 'There's no need. Some things are just between you and your dragon.'

Galbatorix nodded solemnly. _'Can you believe this gibberish?'_ he asked Laela in the privacy of their heads.

'_Try and keep a straight face,'_ she advised. _'She's about to tell you off.'_

'You fly very well,' Carina went on. 'You sit well in the saddle and move in harmony with Laela, as a rider should. _However_-,' she frowned. 'I'm not sure I approve of that little stunt you pulled early on. I can understand that you were excited and wanted to show off, and yes, the odds that Laela wouldn't have been quick enough to catch you were very low, but you shouldn't take risks like that until you're more experienced in the air. Is that understood?'

'What stunt?' Galbatorix asked innocently.

'You know perfectly well what I'm talking about,' Carina said sternly. 'While you're in the air, stay in the saddle and keep the straps done up. I knew a young rider who thought she was invincible enough to leave the straps off, and…' she trailed off meaningfully.

'…and she was smashed to bits on the ground,' Galbatorix supplied.

'Actually, no,' said Carina. 'But she was asking for it.'

'Who was she?' said Flell.

Carina smiled. 'She was me about twenty years ago. Luckily her dragon talked some sense into her. Now then… I've got some news for you two before you go to lunch.'

They waited.

'Because of this delay we've had, there's been a slight change of plans,' Carina told them. 'You won't be going to Vrael after all.' She paused there, and Galbatorix's heart sank. What had he done to deserve this? But then Carina continued to speak. 'Instead,' she said, 'He'll be coming to you.'

'Vrael's coming here?' said Flell.

'Yes,' said Carina. 'You see, in a week's time the elves will be holding a special celebration known as the _Agaetí Blödhren_ – the Blood-Oath ceremony. It's in honour of the day peace was made between elves and dragons, and all the rider elders come to Ellesméra to take part – including Vrael. And your fellow students will be coming back as well.'

Galbatorix's eyes widened. 'The Blood-Oath ceremony?' he'd heard about it a few times. It was probably the most famous event ever held in the elvish settlement, and he'd hoped he would be able to attend it one day.

'Yes,' said Carina. 'It's been a while since I've been to one – usually fully-trained riders are too busy with their duties to have time for that sort of thing. The ceremony is very wild, but it puts a fire in your blood…' she sighed. 'Yes… I'll be glad to be at this one. However, there's one thing you'll have to do.'

'What?' said Flell.

'Everyone who comes is expected to present something they've made,' said Carina. 'A piece of artwork or craftsmanship… whatever it is, it has to be something you've put your heart into. Even if it's not very good, if it's an honest effort you'll be praised for it.'

'_Artwork?_' said Galbatorix, nonplussed. 'Why?'

Carina shrugged. 'It's traditional. Elves place a lot of value on art.'

Galbatorix noticed for the first time that her ears were pointed. 'What sort of art?'

'It can be anything,' said Carina. 'A poem, a story, a painting, a piece of jewellery… anything someone can make. Don't panic; just think it over and you'll come up with something.'

Laela blinked. _'How am I supposed to make anything?'_

Leaf extended his neck in order to fix her with a stern look. _'By using your brain, young dragon. And your imagination.'_

'_But of course,'_ said Laela in sarcastic tones, allowing Galbatorix to hear her.

Galbatorix managed to stop himself from sniggering. 'We'll… uh, see what we can do.'

'I'm sure you will,' said Carina. 'Now, we'd better go and have something to eat, and afterwards I've got a new lesson for you.'

'Swordplay again?' said Flell.

'No, not this time.' Carina looked at Galbatorix. 'It's time for you to try magic again.'

After they'd eaten lunch – which one again was meat-free; something Galbatorix was finding increasingly irritating – they repaired to Islanzadí's open-air audience chamber. Part of the roof had been cut back to make way for Galbatorix's oak tree, which was now considerably taller than Laela. She and Thrain had gone with Leaf to resume their usual training, and Carina sat down cross-legged on the grass under the tree with Flell and Galbatorix, ready to teach them something new.

A stack of flat slates had been placed in a handy hollow in the tree's roots, and Carina picked one of them up and showed it to her students. Galbatorix and Flell examined it politely. It didn't look like anything special.

'What's it for?' asked Flell.

'This slate has been treated with special pigments,' said Carina. 'With a simple spell, it can be used to paint an image of something the caster has seen. Watch closely.' She held her hand over the slate and spoke some words in the ancient language. Light glowed faintly around it, and as Galbatorix watched he saw colours begin to swirl over the grey surface of the slate. Every colour of the rainbow, swimming there like oil on water. Some of the colours faded away while others grew brighter, and in the space of a minute or so an image formed. It was of a young man – more a boy, really – standing in a stone courtyard by a fountain. He was looking straight out toward them, his expression disconcertingly alert.

Galbatorix was intrigued. The picture was far to sharp and vivid to be a conventional painting. It looked almost real. He looked up inquiringly at Carina.

'This is a fairth,' she said. 'I created it by focusing on a memory. Many fairths have been considered to be great works of art, but unfortunately making one isn't as simple as it looks. It requires a lot of mental focus and control, and I'll warn you that you'd better expect your first few attempts to be failures. You can try it now.' She picked up two more slates, and handed them to Galbatorix and Flell.

'Now,' she said. 'The words to say are _taka sási muninn eđa vísa ita fram sási steinn_ – "take this memory and capture it upon this stone". I suggest you choose something you remember very clearly, especially if it has deep significance for you. The fairth I just made…' she touched it and smiled shyly. 'This picture shows the first boy I ever kissed. His name was Thorold…' she blushed. 'Give it a try, and I'll watch.'

Galbatorix examined his slate, wondering what memory he should use to make a fairth. It had to be something meaningful and vivid…

In the end he chose Ilia, the wild dragon. He remembered how she had crouched in her cage, the savage light that burned in her eyes, the rich red colour of her wings.

He focused on the memory, immersing himself in it, and when he thought he was ready he held his hand over the piece of slate. What were the words again? Oh yes.

'Taka sási muninn eđa vísa ita fram sási steinn!'

For the second time in his life, he felt his magic flowing out of him and into something else. It gave him a little thrill of fear, and suddenly the recollection of what had happened in this very spot months before flooded into his brain, blotting out the image of Ilia that he was concentrating on.

He swore and broke off the stream of magic, then looked at the slate again.

It didn't show a picture of Ilia – he'd lost his focus too early. What it showed instead was… bizarre.

His fairth was just as bright and sharp as Carina's had been, but the image it showed wasn't of Ilia or of the accident with the oak tree. What it showed instead was a surreal mix of colours and shapes. There was a hand at the centre, sharply drawn and detailed. Its fingers were spread wide, and the palm facing outward but turned slightly to the left, had a silver gedwëy ignaesia on it. White energy was flowing from the hand, outlining the fingers, and the energy warped and changed into a mass of different things. There was a tall tree – an oak – and part of a dragon's face – Ilia, snarling defiance from between the bars of her cage. There was a green eye that was probably Carina's, and a blue one that could have belonged to Flell. Beyond that it was simply colour and form which didn't quite resolve itself into a clear image, although it came very close.

Galbatorix examined his creation thoughtfully. He had to admit it had a kind of beauty, even if it hadn't worked the way it was supposed to.

Carina held out her hand. 'Let's see it.'

Galbatorix gave it to her, wondering what she'd say. Carina looked at the fairth, and he saw her blink several times in confusion. She looked up at him. 'What were you trying to do with this?'

'I was focusing on the wild dragon I saw in Teirm,' Galbatorix explained. 'But I got distracted when I cast the spell… started thinking of the accident with the tree.'

Carina frowned. 'This is very strange. I've seen fairths that didn't work before, but nothing like this. Normally failed fairths are just blurry or only half-formed. But this one is… it looks like it's made up of dozens of different memories.'

'What does that mean?' Galbatorix asked.

'Well…' Carina looked uncertain. She tapped the swirling rainbow of colours that surrounded the images. 'This here is pigment that didn't get used. You stopped the spell before it had faded or settled. That's common enough. Beyond that, I really don't know. It looks like your mind works in an interesting way.'

For some reason Galbatorix felt a little proud. He glanced at Flell. She was holding her own fairth loosely in her hand, and leaned over to have a look at his. 'That's really beautiful, Galbatorix!' she said.

'You think so?'

'Yeah!' said Flell. 'Is that me there?'

She indicated a half-formed shape that looked vaguely humanoid.

'Could be,' said Galbatorix. 'What did you make?'

Flell gave him her own fairth. 'It's not very good,' she said apologetically. 'I couldn't focus properly.'

Flell's fairth was a picture of Thrain and Laela standing side-by-side as they'd done only a few hours earlier. Galbatorix could recognise the two dragons well enough, but they were blurred and ill-defined, as if he were looking at them through a pane of cheap glass.

Carina took the fairth from him. 'Pretty good for a first attempt,' she told Flell. 'Just remember to relax and let the memory dominate your mind.'

Flell nodded. 'Okay. Can I try again?'

'Certainly,' said Carina. She put the two fairths aside and gave her students a fresh piece of slate. 'Choose a different memory this time. Galbatorix, I suggest you try one that's a little more recent.'

Galbatorix nodded and took the fresh slate. But while he was considering what memory to use, he had an idea – did it have to be a memory? Why couldn't it be something he made up?

He considered it for a while, and then decided to give it a try. It couldn't hurt.

Coming up with something was a little tricky. Everything he thought of was either too complex or too mundane. In the end he settled on his sword – the one he didn't have yet. Eventually he would be presented with a sword like Carina's; it would have a white blade to match Laela's scales, and be finely-made and strong as only a rider's sword could be. He'd often tried to imagine what it would look like, and now he could have a go at capturing that image.

Galbatorix concentrated on the idea of a sword that was yet to be forged. It would have a white blade, yes, and the hilt would be silver like Laela's eyes. It would be plain but elegant, maybe a little shorter than Carina's, with a more tapered blade. And his name would be engraved on the hilt. His sword.

A wonderful feeling of calm and certainty settled over him. 'Taka sási muninn eđa vísa ita fram sási steinn.'

The magic went to work, and this time he managed to keep his mind focused. When the spell was complete, he looked at the new fairth and smiled. It showed an image of a sword, just like the one he had imagined. It stood against a black background, vividly outlined by white and silver lightning. When he looked more closely at it, he thought he could make out – yes – his name engraved on the hilt. But, to his surprise, he saw that it said neither 'Galbatorix', nor 'Arren'. Instead it said 'Fárbjóđr.' His true name, he was sure of it. It had come to him while he was trapped in Laela's body, and he knew it was his. But he didn't know what it meant.

Flell was already showing her second fairth to Carina. Galbatorix, craning his neck to see, found she'd created a fairly well-defined image of a bright orange butterfly perched on a grass-stem.

'It's that one over there,' Flell added helpfully, pointing at the insect in time for them to see it fly away.

'Very good!' said Carina, giving the fairth back. 'You're already improving. Now, Galbatorix, what have you done?'

Galbatorix wordlessly handed her the fairth.

'What in the name of the gods is this?' said Carina. 'Where did you see this sword?'

'I didn't,' said Galbatorix. 'Well… it's my sword. That's what I think it'll look like.'

'You mean you just made it up?' said Carina.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'I know you said to use a memory, but I thought… well, I wondered if I could do it with something I just made up. I mean, I still saw it. Just, in my head.'

Carina was giving him a long, slow look.

'Did I do something wrong?' Galbatorix asked. He was suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable.

'Are you _sure_ you never saw this sword?' said Carina.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'The only rider's sword I've ever seen was yours. When they're making my sword, can I show this to them and ask them to make it look the same? I… well, I like this sword. That's all.' He looked at the ground, almost shyly.

'Hm,' said Carina. 'I don't see why anyone would have a problem with that. And no, you haven't done anything wrong. I'm just a little taken aback.'

'Why?' said Flell. 'I think it's a good picture.'

Carina handed the fairth back to Galbatorix. 'It's just that, as far as I know, it's impossible to make a fairth from something that isn't real. Well, obviously it's not impossible, because you just did it.'

'Oh,' said Galbatorix. He wasn't sure what to think about this.

'One thing is certain,' said Carina. 'You, Galbatorix, have a very unique mind. You surprise me every time I teach you something new.'

Galbatorix fidgeted. 'Thankyou,' he said, a little hesitantly, since he wasn't really sure whether he was being complimented or not.

Carina flashed him a brief smile. 'When they asked me if I thought you should have the chance to become one of us, I told them I thought you could well become an elder one day. I'm pleased to see I wasn't mistaken.'

_That_ made Galbatorix happy. 'You really said that?'

'Yes,' said Carina. 'Now then… unless you'd like to try another fairth, you're free to go.'

Flell stood up. 'I'm ready to go,' she said. 'Come on, Galbatorix, let's go and see what our dragons are up to. We can go for another flight.'

Galbatorix half-stood, but paused. 'Carina?'

'Yes?' said Carina.

'How do people find out their true names?'

'Oh,' said Carina. 'It's a bit early to be thinking about that, but… well, everyone has their true name hidden inside them. But it's very deeply buried. You can't find it just by wishing for it. Finding out your true name comes later, once you've really mastered your link with your dragon. To tell you the truth, I haven't found out my true name yet. But when you _do_ find out what it is, never, ever tell anyone else what it is. Even if you trust them. Because your true name is the key to your heart. If someone else gave you a command using your true name, you would be forced to obey them. Even if they told you to kill your own mother, or throw yourself into a pit of fire, you'd do it without question. True names are very dangerous.'

Galbatorix went cold. 'I'll remember that… but what's your true name like? What sort of name is it? Is it just a name like… Galbatorix, or Carina, or something like that?'

'No,' said Carina. 'Your true name is a word in the ancient language – sometimes two – something that describes your true self perfectly. Once you know what it is, you'll have a very deep insight into who you really are or what you could become.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I see.' He picked up both his fairths and left with Flell.

'Shall we go and find the dragons, then?' Flell asked. She didn't seem overly interested by what Carina had said.

'All right,' said Galbatorix. 'Just let me stop by my house and leave these fairths there.'

Flell nodded. 'I'll go ahead to my place and wait for you there.'

They parted ways when they reached the door to Galbatorix's lodgings. He entered them and nearly tripped over a pillow he'd left in the doorway. Muttering irritably, he carefully propped the fairths up on the little table by the bed. He paused to admire their bright colours, and then picked up a book from the stack he'd left on the floor. It was a dictionary of words in the ancient language.

He sat down and flicked through the book until he got to the letter 'f', then searched for the words 'freslae', and 'fárbjóđr'. He found 'freslae' first. According to the dictionary, it meant 'saviour'. He smiled. That was a good meaning. And Laela _had_ already saved him several times.

Then he found 'fárbjóđr'. He read the meaning. He read it again. The book fell out of his hands and landed on the floor with a thump, lying there still open to that entry.

Galbatorix looked down blankly at the book, staring at the words. They looked back, outlining their meaning sharp and clear, black on white. His true name, staring him in the face. And its meaning.

Galbatorix picked up the book again, holding it gingerly, as if it might bite him, and ran his fingers over the words. But there was no denying what they said.

_**Fárbjóđr** (noun): One who destroys_.

14


	9. Vrael

Chapter Nine

Vrael

That evening, Galbatorix and Laela sat together on a high ledge somewhere on the mountain known as the Stone of Broken Eggs, and watched the sunset.

Laela crouched with her tail wrapped around her and Galbatorix sat cross-legged under her chest, sheltered from the wind.

It was a particularly fine sunset; red, pink and gold, casting a soft glow over the forest so far below. Galbatorix, however, didn't appear to be paying much attention to it. He was scribbling on a piece of paper with a stick of charcoal, scowling in concentration.

'_What are you doing?'_ Laela asked.

Galbatorix looked at the sunset again. _'I'm trying to write a poem,'_ he said.

Laela snorted. _'What for?'_

'_For this stupid ceremony. I couldn't think of anything else.'_

'_I didn't think you were the sort to write poetry,'_ said Laela.

'_I'm not,' _said Galbatorix. _'But what else could I do? I'm not an artist.'_

'_You were a leather-worker,'_ said Laela. _'Why not make something out of leather?'_

'_I thought of that, but you can't get it here… blasted elves. Anyway, there's nothing very artistic about the things I used to make back home.'_

Laela paused. _'What _did_ you make?'_

'_Oh… handbags, purses, belts, boots, whips and harnesses for horses. That sort of thing.'_ Galbatorix read the few lines of his poem, then crumpled it up and threw it away in disgust. 'This is ridiculous!' he said aloud. 'What sort of idiot wastes their time with this rubbish?'

'_Elves, apparently,'_ said Laela.

'_Hah,'_ said Galbatorix. He took a book from his pocket and turned the pages. _'It's rubbish,'_ he said. _'Listen to this… "Long lost words whisper slowly to me_

_Still can't find what keeps me here, When all this time I've been so hollow inside_

_I know you're still there"…utterly horrible.'_

He slammed the book shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. _'I tell you, Laela, these elves are out of their damn minds.'_

Laela gave a rough dragonish snicker. _'You're so funny when you're angry.'_

Galbatorix eyed the screwed-up poem, which had landed not far away on the ledge. Then he held his hand toward it and said; 'Brisingr!'

A brief burst of white light came from his hand and hit the paper, which burst into flames. Galbatorix let out a little 'hah!' of triumph, and Laela blinked. _'I thought you weren't allowed to use magic unless someone else was watching.'_

Galbatorix sat back. _'You were watching. Isn't it amazing what magic can do? When will _you _start burning things?'_

'_In a few months,'_ said Laela. She yawned. _'We're old enough about six months after we hatch. Just you wait. My fire will be white and silver just like me.'_

Galbatorix was impressed. _'Really? How do you know?'_

'_I don't, but I'm hoping,'_ said Laela. _'The most powerful dragons have fire that matches their scales.'_

'_Well, you're powerful all right,' _said Galbatorix. _'You were the one who got us out of that mess we were in yesterday.'_

They were silent for a time, and the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon. The stars began to come out.

'_Laela?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_Remember yesterday, when I was stuck in your head? You told me to say my name and I told you it was Fárbjóđr.'_

'_Yes, and you said _my_ name was Freslae,'_ Laela recalled. _'What did you mean by that? I thought you were babbling.'_

'_I think those are our true names,'_ said Galbatorix. He paused, then spoke aloud, as clearly as he could. '_Freslae_, raise your left wing.'

Laela's left wing rose. She dug her front claws into the stone beneath her. _'How did you make me do that? That wasn't me!'_

Galbatorix felt a grim certainty settle over him. _'Tell me to do something,'_ he said. _'Call me Fárbjóđr. And make sure it's something harmless.'_

Laela only hesitated a moment. _'All right…Fárbjóđr, throw that book of poetry off the ledge.'_

The instant the words had arrived in his head, he found his hand moving without his intervention. It reached into his pocket, pulled out the book, and hurled it away into the void. It disappeared, its pages fluttering, and he stared at the air where it had been in shock. _'It worked! Oh my gods…'_

'_Galbatorix, what's going on?'_ said Laela.

'_They're our true names,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Didn't Leaf tell you this? If you give someone a command using their true name, they have to obey. There's no resisting it. That's why they're so dangerous. Never tell anyone else what they are, Laela. Ever.'_

'_You can trust me,'_ said Laela. '_…Fárbjóđr?'_

'_I prefer Galbatorix,'_ Galbatorix said grimly.

'_That's impressive, isn't it?'_ said Laela. _'People don't usually find out their true names so early… what's the matter? Don't you like yours? Freslae suits me, I think.'_

'_It's not the name that bothers me, it's what it means,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I looked them up.'_

'_Oh? What do they mean, then?'_

'…_well, Freslae means saviour.'_

'_Hmm. I like that meaning,'_ said Laela. _'Even if it doesn't make any sense. Since when have I saved anyone? What does yours mean?'_

'_It means "destroyer",'_ said Galbatorix. _'As in something or someone that kills and lays waste. And that's my true name.'_

He sensed Laela's dismay. _'Are you sure? Maybe you got the spelling wrong.'_

Galbatorix shook his head. _'No. It's my name. I can… feel it. Destroyer. That's what I am.'_

'_No you're not,' _Laela said sharply. _'You never destroyed anything, and I never saved anything. They're nonsense. Just words. Words can control who you are; that's up to you.'_

'_But Carina said your true name reveals your destiny,'_ said Galbatorix. He covered his face with his hands._ 'Oh gods, Laela, what does it mean? Does it mean I'll be a killer one day? Is _that_ my destiny, to be a destroyer?'_

'_NO.' _Laela almost shouted the word. _'No, Galbatorix, no. Never. Stop it. You're being silly. You're not a killer or a destroyer, and I'm not a saviour.'_

'_But it's my true name,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_Then I'll give you a new one,'_ said Laela. She nuzzled his shoulder, her voice warm. _'I don't care what that stupid book said. You're not a destroyer and you never will be. You're… Vinr. As far as I'm concerned, that's your true name and it always will be.'_

'_What does Vinr mean?' _Galbatorix asked, feeling the white dragon's voice and presence lift his spirits as they always did.

'_It means "friend",'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix couldn't help but smile. _'You always know what to say, don't you? Before I met you I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a rider… to be paired with a dragon. But I never thought it would be like this.'_

'_Like what?'_ said Laela.

_Like… well, once I thought that a rider's dragon worked for him,'_ said Galbatorix, a little apologetically. _'But that was before I saw Carina and Leaf and saw how… how they were so in harmony with each other. And now I've got you, and you're like… well, like lots of things. My conscience, my voice of reason, and my best friend.'_

'_Really?'_ said Laela. She sounded intrigued.

'_Yes. You're the best friend I've ever had, Laela.'_

Laela crooned. _'Thankyou. And you… you're the most infuriating, impulsive, immature… smart, kind… wonderful person I've ever met.'_

'_It's very nice of you to say so,'_ said Galbatorix, caught between laughter and love.

They sat companionably together on the ledge and watched the stars and the rising moon and not needing to say anything else. Galbatorix let his mind wander, and found himself thinking about Flell. He smiled.

'_She's so nice, isn't she?'_ he remarked to Laela, without thinking.

'_Oh, yes,'_ Laela agreed.

'_I can't stop thinking about her.'_

'_Me neither.'_

'_So pretty,'_ said Galbatorix, thinking of Flell's soft hair and laughing eyes.

'_Funny, too,'_ said Laela. _'And caring. Always thinking of other people.'_ She sighed dreamily. _'I wonder if she likes me?'_

'_How could anyone not like you?'_ said Galbatorix. _'I wonder if she likes me?'_

Laela sighed again. _'I'm a little jealous of her, to tell you the truth. Purple is a much more interesting colour than plain old white.'_

Galbatorix blinked. _'What? Who are you talking about?'_

'_Thrain,'_ said Laela. _'Who were _you_ talking about?'_

'_Flell, of course,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_Oh,'_ said Laela. _'Well… hmm… I like Thrain a lot. Can't seem to get her out of my head.'_

Galbatorix wasn't slow to notice the infatuation in her voice. _'You're… are you saying you're in love with Thrain?'_

'_No!'_ said Laela. _'I mean… is that wrong?'_

Galbatorix thought about it carefully. _'You know, I don't see why it would be. Are you going to tell her?'_

'_Are _you_ going to tell Flell?'_

'_Maybe,'_ said Galbatorix, a little defensively. _'I hadn't really thought about it.'_

'_You should,'_ said Laela. _'Thrain told me she likes you.'_

'_Really?'_ said Galbatorix. He couldn't stop himself from adding; _'What did she say? What does she think of me?'_

Laela made no effort to hide her amusement. _'Why, that you're… handsome, intelligent, strong, talented… and dark.'_

Galbatorix had been listening to this list with a warm tingle of pleasure, but he paused over this. _'Dark?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. _'Dark and unsmiling and mysterious. And scaaaarry.'_

Galbatorix was about to protest, but then he realised she was mocking him. _'Very funny. How much of that did she _really_ say?'_

'_The first part,'_ said Laela.

'_She said I was "dark"?'_ said Galbatorix, caught between bewilderment and disappointed.

'_She did,'_ said Laela. _'And you _are_ dark. Don't you know what you look like to other people?'_

'_Of course I don't,'_ Galbatorix snapped. _'How could I?'_

'_Well, you look dark,'_ said Laela. _'That's what people see. That's what Flell sees. They see a boy with black hair and black eyes, who hardly ever smiles or laughs, and has a mysterious voice. The truth is you're a little unsettling.'_

Galbatorix scowled. _'Oh really. So _that's_ what she thinks of me.'_ He wished he still had the book of poetry so he could throw it off the ledge again.

Laela chuckled. _'Don't be stupid. She _likes_ that about you.'_

'_She what? I don't understand.'_

'_Flell thinks you're dark, and she likes it,'_ said Laela. _'She's attracted to you because she can't quite… figure you out.'_

'_How do you know that?'_ Galbatorix asked, suspiciously.

Laela fluttered her wings. _'Some things you just know. I know _I_ like the fact that you're dark and mysterious.'_

'_Mysterious people tend to be dangerous,'_ said Galbatorix, but he was only half-serious.

'_I like that, too,'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix spent the next few days feeling vaguely irritable and avoiding Flell. Now he'd openly admitted that he liked her, he suddenly found himself feeling very awkward around her, and twice as inclined to say or do something silly. In spite of what Laela had advised, he couldn't bring himself to admit his feelings. Every time he thought about it, he felt queasy. Which was how he also felt whenever Flell looked at him.

Carina was teaching him how to ride Laela effectively, and Flell joined in these lessons, but for the rest of the time Galbatorix kept to himself. He wandered through Ellesméra, went flying with Laela, and sulked. At the same time, he kept coming back to his other problem – what was he going to present at the Blood-Oath celebration?

Laela had apparently lost all interest in it; when he asked her if she'd thought of anything, she only shrugged her wings and asked him if he had. The second time he asked, she said; _'Who cares? Forsooth, I canst not writeth poetry, nor wish to waste mine time with it!'_

That made him laugh, but he was still determined to have something to show the elves. If he came to the celebration with nothing, Flell would probably laugh at him.

But nothing he came up with worked. He tried his hand at wood-carving and painting but didn't have the patience for it. And he absolutely refused to try another poem. But what did that leave? There were only a few days left until the celebration – far too little time to learn any new skills. What could he create that could be considered art?

The answer came to him one evening when he was relaxing in his lodgings and noticed his two fairths, still sitting on the table where he'd left them. He admired their colours, and then suddenly felt like an idiot. What had Carina said? Fairths could be considered works of art. And he could create fairths like no-one else's. It was perfect! And, when he considered the idea further, he came up with the perfect fairth to create. But it would be hard work, and it would probably take several attempts.

He hurried outside. Laela was there, idly grooming her talons. _'Hello,'_ she said without turning around. _'This hole in my wing itches… d'you think it might be infected?'_

Galbatorix briefly examined the injury, then muttered; 'Waíse heill.' It glowed with faint white light, then sealed over. _'Laela, I know what we can make for the ceremony!'_

'_What?'_ said Laela. _'Hey… you healed it!'_

'_Yes. I found the spell yesterday. Listen, why don't we create a fairth? A special one.'_

'_We?'_ said Laela. _'Why we? You've created fairths without any help before.'_

'_Yes, but… well, I thought, since I can make fairths of things I haven't actually seen, why don't I make one out of those nightmares we had last week? I'd need your help – you'd have to provide an image of what you saw, so I can include both of them. And it'll have to be big… so I might need to borrow some energy from you.'_

Laela was nonplussed. _'How do you create a picture of a dream?'_

'_I'm not sure,'_ said Galbatorix. _'But I say we concentrate, cast the spell, and see what comes out. It's got to be worth a try. And if you help me, I can tell them it's something we made together and no-one will ask why you don't have anything to show.'_

'_All right,'_ said Laela. _'I'm willing. We can start now, if you like.'_

'_Sure. I'm not tired. Just wait here… I'm going to see if I can get some more of those slates.'_

For the next two days, while the Blood-Oath celebration drew ever closer, Galbatorix and Laela excused themselves from their lessons and disappeared. They found a secluded spot in the mountains, where they could work undisturbed, and that was where they stayed for hours at a time. No-one was quite sure what they were doing, although when Carina asked him Galbatorix simply said 'making fairths'.

It seemed he was making a _lot_ of fairths – the elf who provided him with the prepared slates privately told Carina that his store of them had nearly run out. And, on the second day, Galbatorix made an even more unusual request. He asked for a piece of slate 'as big as you can make. Maybe… this big' – he held his hands far apart to demonstrate.

The slate-maker obligingly handed over the largest one he had, but that wasn't enough for Galbatorix. 'It has to be bigger,' he insisted.

'This is the largest I have, Shur'tugal,' said the elf.

'Well then, make a bigger one.'

Which the elf did, working through the night and finally presenting it to the impatient boy at dawn the next day. Galbatorix wrapped it carefully in cloth, and he and Laela returned to their secret workspace.

They'd chosen a little cave in the mountains, with trees around the entrance, and the walls inside it were lined with fairths. Dozens of them. Galbatorix had spent hours capturing every kind of image he could think of – from standard memories to dreams, emotions, abstract concepts, and even colours. Some of the results were failures, others outright hallucinatory, but he wasn't satisfied with any of them and had in fact destroyed dozens more. But there wasn't any time for more experimenting – the celebration was going to be that night.

Laela curled up in the cave's entrance beside the heap of wood and charcoal from the fire Galbatorix had kept burning. He re-lit it with a spell, and hung a small pot of rabbit stew over it to re-heat. Then he sat down in the warmth and unwrapped the slate. It was huge – his arms were only just long enough to hold it steady against his chest.

'_Do you really think you can fill it?'_ Laela asked.

'_I'm going to give it a try,'_ said Galbatorix, rolling up his sleeves. He glanced at the pot, which was starting to warm up. _'After breakfast, that is.'_

He waited and held his hands over the fire. It was a chilly morning, and after a few minutes he retreated into the cave and returned carrying a rough blanket made from several rabbit skins sewn together. He'd made it himself, having skinned the rabbits which Laela had caught for him and then tanned and prepared the hides with the ease of long practise.

He wrapped the furry blanket around his shoulders. _'Ah, that's better.'_

The stew was ready by now, and he spooned some into a bowl and started to eat. It tasted good, and he sighed. The elves might think they were better than humans, but they weren't about to turn _him_ into a vegetarian. And they certainly weren't going to make him ashamed of being human.

'_Half-human,'_ Laela corrected.

'_It's rude to listen in when I'm thinking, Laela.'_

'_You're _half­_-human,'_ said Laela, ignoring him. _'Half of you is elvish, don't forget.'_

'_Dark elvish. The dark elves aren't like these freaks,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_Don't be ridiculous, you've never even seen them,'_ Laela scoffed.

'_They aren't,'_ Galbatorix said stubbornly. _'_I'm_ not.'_

Laela opened and closed her wings in a shrug. _'If you say so. Shall we get to work?'_

Galbatorix finished his stew and pulled the rabbit skins more tightly over his shoulders. _'I'm ready.'_

For the next few hours, right through the morning, boy and dragon worked at creating the fairth. They melded their minds together as closely as they dared, and channelled both their magic and their collective memory of the dream onto the slate. Galbatorix spoke the words of the spell, and after that it was only a matter of keeping the magic under control, and continuing to feed it into the spell until it was completed. Only! Neither of them had realised it would take so long and take so much mental focus and stamina, but it did, and toward the end only pure stubbornness kept them going.

By the time they were both satisfied that the fairth was completed, it was midday and they were exhausted. Galbatorix barely glanced at the fairth before he lay back and promptly went to sleep against Laela's flank.

They woke up in mid-afternoon, and Galbatorix sat up, yawning. His neck was stiff, and he rubbed it, feeling his back still aching. It still bothered him from time to time, even though the fall had been days ago. He nudged Laela. _'Wake up!'_

'_I'm already awake,'_ said Laela.She curved her neck around to look at the fairth, and he felt her surprise. _'Have a look at it! It's amazing!'_

Galbatorix looked, and his breath caught in his throat. It wasn't like what he'd expected at all. It was… _'It's beautiful,'_ he said.

'_It's strange,'_ said Laela. _'But… I can almost see myself in it. Like it's a part of me.'_

'_That's because it is,'_ said Galbatorix. He stood up and stretched, wincing when his back cracked.

Laela looked up at the sky. _'Leaf's coming,'_ she said.

Galbatorix looked in the same direction, and sure enough he saw the green dragon flying overhead. He came down to land by the cave, and Galbatorix hastily wrapped the fairth in his rabbitskin blanket, hiding it from view.

Leaf hit the ground lightly. On his back, Carina looked at Galbatorix and Laela, then at the cave. 'Good grief,' she said. 'I've never seen so many fairths in my life. What have you been doing here?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Making fairths.'

'What for? For the ceremony?'

'Yes.' Galbatorix carefully lifted the wrapped and completed fairth. 'This is it.'

Carina eyed it. 'Well, hurry up. The celebration's starting soon. Vrael and the other elders have already arrived, and they want to meet you.'

Galbatorix's heart leapt. 'All right. Just give me a moment to clear all this up.'

'You can worry about that later,' said Carina. 'Come on! Vrael gets irritable if he's kept waiting.'

Galbatorix nodded and hurriedly climbed into Laela's saddle, holding the fairth close to his chest. Laela stood up. He could feel her excitement mirroring his own. Vrael. He was here. And they were going to meet him…

'_Looks like our peace in Ellesméra is over,'_ Laela remarked.

Galbatorix half-laughed. _'Peace? What's that?'_

'_It'll probably feel like peace once the training really starts,' _said Laela. She took off with an easy flick of her wings, and she and Leaf flew off back toward the settlement.

They stopped at Galbatorix's lodgings, and while Leaf and Carina went ahead to inform the elders that they were coming, Galbatorix went inside to select the most formal outfit he could find. But one had already been laid out on the bed for him.

He put down the fairth and examined it. In contrast to his customary black, this outfit was all white. A fine white tunic, white trousers and an open-fronted white robe to go over it. There were even a pair of white elvish shoes to go with it.

When Galbatorix picked up the tunic to have a closer look at it, he found it wasn't all white after all – the whole thing was chased with silver embroidery, showing designs of leaves and stylised dragons. The fabric was soft and strong under his hands.

He only hesitated briefly before he put the outfit on. It fit him perfectly; most likely it had been tailored just for him to wear. It was amazing to think that so much careful craftsmanship had been put into an outfit he'd probably only wear once.

Once he'd pulled on the robe, he tied on a woven silver belt decorated with what looked like real diamonds, and dragged a brush through his hair, carefully re-ordering it until he was satisfied. He hated the idea of anyone seeing him with messy hair. Always had.

He decided to keep his dragon amulet on. It was very cheap and looked even more so with such a fine outfit, but he liked it. And, after a few moments consideration, he kept his old black boots as well. He didn't like elvish shoes. They were too soft. And his boots were like a link to his old home, to remind him of where he'd come from. He supposed that he was keeping them as a sign of the fact that he hadn't forgotten his life in Teirm at the leather-worker's stall. Or maybe it was just because they were comfortable.

He had a look at himself in the mirror, and was surprised. Clad all in white and silver, he looked strangely timeless – neither old nor young. It made his skin look paler than it really was, and his black eyes and hair and the little sprinkling of freckles on his nose stood out sharply. So did his old boots. They looked slightly out of place, being as worn and muddy as they were, but he decided he didn't care. Let people stare if they wanted to.

Laela was grooming her scales when he rejoined her, using her rough tongue to clean off dirt and polish their surface as best she could. She looked around when he came out, and started. _'Oh, good gods.'_

'_What?'_

Laela appeared to relax slightly. _'Sorry. You scared me for a moment. How do I look?'_ She stood a little taller, turning so he could see her flanks and belly. Her scales were clean and sparkled in the sun like new snow.

'_You look magnificent,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_Thankyou,'_ said Laela. _'I wish I'd had time to clean my talons as well… never mind.'_

'_How do _I_ look?'_

Laela looked him up and down. _'You look very… white. I'm not sure I like it.'_

'_Why?'_ Galbatorix asked. He was a little hurt and surprised by this reaction.

Laela shifted. _'Well, the last time I saw you wearing white, you were dying. It's just a little… makes me nervous.'_

'_It was just a dream,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. _'Yes, just a dream… have you got the fairth?'_

'_Oh!_' Galbatorix hurried back inside, cursing himself. He'd nearly forgotten to bring the damned thing. He picked up the fairth and returned to Laela's side. _'Right. Thankyou for reminding me. Shall we fly there?'_

'_It's not far,'_ said Laela. _'We'll walk. The wind might mess up your hair.'_

Galbatorix nodded. _'All right.'_

They walked together, Galbatorix slightly in front, making for the big open space at the heart of the valley where there was a massive old tree known as the Menoa Tree. The celebration was held under its branches every year, and as they headed toward it they could see a few stragglers going in the same direction – mostly elves, but also a few visiting humans and even a werecat or two. They were all interested to see Galbatorix and Laela passing, and most greeted them respectfully with murmurs of 'Argetlam', or, in the case of the humans 'my lord'. Galbatorix was frankly surprised by this. During his time in Ellesméra so far he'd become used to the elves doing what he asked and addressing him as 'Shur'tugal', but now he was seeing other humans treating him like a noble. It was a strange reminder of the fact that he wasn't a commoner any more. Even a rider in training was… well, a 'my lord'. He liked it.

But he forgot about all that the instant he and Laela entered the great clearing around the Menoa Tree. They both stopped at the edge of the trees, and simply gaped at what they saw before them. Neither one had been prepared for this, and now they saw it it took their breath away.

The Menoa Tree, along with all those around it, had been hung with brightly-coloured decorations. Tables laden with food were spaced throughout the clearing for people to help themselves, and everywhere there were elves. Far more of them than had been there on the Day of the First Hatching, when Galbatorix had first arrived in Ellesméra. It seemed that elves from everywhere throughout the forest of Du Weldenvarden had come to celebrate. They were of both sexes, but, again, they all looked eerily similar to each other. Galbatorix still found it difficult to tell the men from the women without looking at their chests. And sometimes even then.

There were humans around; vastly outnumbered by the elves, but present all the same. He guessed from their clothing and the way they carried themselves that most of them were nobles of some description. He spotted a dwarf or two among the crowd, and a few members of races he couldn't identify for the life of him. The air was full of sweet-smelling incense, and elvish musicians were perched in the trees like songbirds, providing a joyful melody with flutes, harps, lutes and their own voices.

But all of that seemed utterly insignificant next to the dragons. Galbatorix looked up at them. And up, and up…

They were _huge._ The smaller ones, including Leaf, were spaced through the clearing, not moving much lest they knock something over. But there were six others who stayed at its very edges, surrounding the clearing, almost fencing it in. And they were simply massive. The smallest of them was still three times bigger than Laela, and the largest of them towered overhead, so big he could have covered the entire clearing with his wings. Like Laela he was pure white. Beside him was one who was rich gold, and there were two brown ones, a dark blue, a yellow and a grey. Galbatorix could hear their deep, rumbling breaths, so loud he could almost feel it.

Laela found her voice again. _'They're so… oh my gods, will _I _ever be that big?'_

'_You know who I think they are?'_ said Galbatorix. _'I think they're the elders. Look!'_ he pointed. Almost out of sight, standing by the white giant's leg, was the small figure of an elf.

'_They've got to be the elders,'_ Laela agreed. _'Which one do you think is Nöst?'_

Galbatorix shrugged. _'He's the oldest, so he'd be the largest. He must be the white one.'_

'_I can't learn from him!'_ said Laela. _'He won't even be able to see me!'_

Galbatorix shivered. Suddenly, the idea of going any further into the clearing made him nervous. How could he possibly go anywhere near a dragon that big, let alone talk to it or its rider?

All his self-confidence melted. He couldn't believe he'd thought he was clever and special before. He'd been with Laela for less than a year. He didn't even have a sword yet. But these… seeing the dragons the elders rode really brought home to him just how long they must have lived. A hundred years? Two hundred? Five hundred?

'_What are their names?'_ Laela asked suddenly. _'Do you know?'_

'_What? Oh… I've read them,'_ Galbatorix said distractedly.

'_Tell me,'_ said Laela. _'Can you remember them?'_

Galbatorix tried to recall. _'Uh… well, that's Nöst… I think the gold one must be Glaedr, and the yellow one would be… something starting with V, I think. Oh, and the grey one is Atropos.'_

For some reason the act of trying to remember calmed him down, which he realised later was precisely Laela's intention.

'_Here comes Carina,'_ she informed him.

Galbatorix took his eyes away from the massive dragons with difficulty, and sure enough he saw Carina coming toward him. She was wearing an outfit a little similar to his own, but where his was white and silver hers was green and gold. 'There you are,' she said.

'Are those the elders?' Galbatorix asked stupidly, pointing at the dragons.

Carina gave him an impatient look. 'Well of course they are. What did you think they were, chopped liver? Come on, you two. Vrael wants to meet you.'

Galbatorix went cold. 'Vrael? I'm not sure I…' his stomach lurched.

'Yes, hurry up,' said Carina. 'You've kept him waiting long enough already. Flell's already there.'

She set off toward the huge white dragon, Nöst. Galbatorix trailed after her, feeling like he was going to be sick. Laela followed, staying close to him. Her presence was the only thing that stopped him from just running away.

As they got closer to Nöst, and the white dragon was towering over them, Galbatorix suddenly realised he was still carrying his fairth. He hurriedly put it down under a handy table and left it there, half-covering it with fallen leaves in the hopes that no-one would interfere with it.

Then it was time to meet Vrael for the first time. The elf was standing by Nöst's leg, and though he was tall he only just reached the dragon's elbow. Carina halted respectfully a short distance away from him, and knelt, saying; 'My Lord, I have brought my student to meet you.'

Suddenly Galbatorix found himself being scrutinised by both Nöst and Vrael. The white dragon brought his head down to peer at him and Laela, and Vrael stepped forward to look him up and down. The old elf's hair was pure white, and he had pointed, intelligent features. His eyes were pale blue, and like Galbatorix he was dressed in white. There was a white-bladed sword strapped to his back, its hilt gold to match Nöst's eyes. Everything about his demeanour was dignified and noble, and full of authority.

Galbatorix looked him in the eye, doing his best to stand up straight. 'My Lord Vrael,' he murmured. All his words seemed to have deserted him.

Vrael looked at him, unreadable, then glanced at Carina. She, still kneeling, said; 'This is Arren Cardockson, of Teirm. Although he prefers to be called Galbatorix.'

An uncomfortable silence ensued, while Vrael looked at Galbatorix without saying anything. Galbatorix forced himself not to look away. His heart was pounding. He had a feeling he was supposed to say or do something, but for the life of him he didn't know what it was.

'_I think you're supposed to be kneeling,'_ Laela hissed.

Galbatorix blinked stupidly.

Then, at last, Vrael spoke. 'Arren Cardockson of Teirm,' he said. 'Kneel.'

That finally galvanised him into action. Galbatorix knelt. 'I'm sorry,' he blurted. 'I just…'

Vrael looked down at him, a little disdainfully. 'Humans forget their courtesies far too easily. So you are the famous Arren. The one who set a wild dragon on his trainer.' His tone was only slightly accusing, but it stung Galbatorix.

'She asked me to,' he said. 'It was wrong to keep her in a cage like that. My Lord,' he added hastily.

Vrael breathed in sharply – apparently he wasn't used to having people answer back.

'I'm sorry, My Lord,' Carina put in. 'The boy is headstrong. But highly talented.'

That gave Galbatorix some of his confidence back. He looked at Vrael, keeping silent.

'Talented,' the elf repeated. 'Yes. I know you are. Which is why I have decided to train you as a master. A talent as great as yours appears to be cannot go untamed. Tomorrow you and your dragon will come with me to Ilirea, and I will give you the discipline and the learning you need. Carina has told me of your doings and your conduct so far. Recklessness will not be tolerated, and nor will careless use of your power.'

He gave Galbatorix a hard, unwavering look.

Galbatorix was both enraged and humiliated. Vrael had made him sound like some idiotic child. An arrogant one. But he stared back defiantly, refusing to back down.

In the end, Vrael looked away. 'You have a lot of spirit, I see,' he said. 'But I warn you now, young rider – if you try and defy me, you will lose.'

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, Galbatorix thought later, because his instant response was increased anger and determination as well. _'We'll see about that,'_ he said aside to Laela.

Vrael gestured at him, signalling for him to stand up. He did so.

'From now on you will call me Master Vrael,' said Vrael. 'You will do as I tell you without question. A rider's life is one of responsibility. However-,' he smiled for the first time, which took Galbatorix completely by surprise – 'Enjoy the celebrations, by all means. And will you introduce your dragon to me, or do you consider her unimportant?'

The sudden change in tone caught Galbatorix off guard. Fortunately Laela was ready. She came forward smartly and bowed her head to Vrael and Nöst. _'I'm Laela, Master,'_ she said, addressing both of them.

'I'm pleased to meet you, Laela,' Vrael said courteously. He even bowed his head slightly to her. Galbatorix was infuriated.

Laela accepted Vrael's greeting by graciously inclining her head. Galbatorix didn't hide his indignation from her, but she ignored him. Just for a few seconds, while Vrael and Laela shared some unspoken communication, Galbatorix felt utterly alone. As if he suddenly didn't matter any more. But the moment passed quickly, and before he knew it Vrael was waving him away. 'Go,' he said. 'I will see you tomorrow. Be sure to pay your respects to the other elders. Carina!'

Carina looked up sharply.

'Keep an eye on him,' Vrael told her, a hint of amusement showing in his own eyes. 'We don't want him to get into any more trouble before we get him to Ilirea.'

'Yes, Lord,' said Carina.

Then, much to his relief, Galbatorix was free to go. Once he had lost himself among the crowd, he started complaining. _'What was _that_ all about? What the hell's wrong with him? He treated me like an idiot!'_

'_He was very rude,'_ Laela agreed. _'But don't worry… I know what he was doing.'_

'_What? Insulting me, you mean? That's what it looked like from where I was standing.'_

'_He's going to be your teacher, isn't he?'_ said Laela. _'He was asserting himself. Showing you he's your master. He can't teach you if you won't obey him.'_

Galbatorix was unable to feel particularly placated by this. _'He was very polite to you. Why didn't he tell _you_ off?'_

Laela sighed rather wearily. _'While you were enjoying Vrael's compliments, Nöst was doing exactly the same thing to me. Don't flatter yourself.'_

'_Oh.'_ Galbatorix paused. _'What did he say?'_

'_That it was my responsibility to keep you in line and that I'm just a foolish little hatchling with her head in the clouds… that sort of thing. Old fool.'_

That cheered him up. _'Well, if they try and squash us, they'll have a hard struggle on their hands.'_

'_Oh yes,'_ said Laela.

As they vanished among the revelling elves, Galbatorix pausing to retrieve his fairth from where he'd hidden it, they were watched by Vrael. The elf frowned thoughtfully. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed when his fellow elder, Saraswati, came to his side.

She touched him lightly on the shoulder, and he looked around at her. 'Oh. Saraswati, it's you.'

Saraswati, a human with blonde hair, smiled. 'Yes, just me. So that was the famous Arren Cardockson of Teirm.'

Vrael put his arm around her. 'Apparently his friends call him Galbatorix.'

'That's a strange name,' said Saraswati. 'Where do you suppose he got it from?'

'He probably thought it a little grander than his real one,' said Vrael. 'It makes no difference to me.'

'You were too hard on him,' said Saraswati. 'Much too hard. I saw the look in his eyes.'

Vrael frowned. 'The boy is headstrong. He's a rebel. A talented one, which is the worst kind. He's got the power, but not the discipline. I had to be hard on him.'

'You made him _angry_,' said Saraswati. 'I could see it in him. You'll have a tough struggle on your hands trying to discipline that one.'

'I know,' said Vrael. 'But now I know I was right to become his mentor. I wouldn't trust anyone else with him. I can see power in him I've never seen before, and if it goes unharnessed… or if he goes wrong somehow… I can't let that happen. If I have to be stern with him, I will.'

Saraswati smiled and kissed him on the cheek. 'You're so sweet when you're worried.'

Vrael couldn't help but return the smile, but his forehead was still creased. He watched his new student, who was walking among the tables, utterly silent, talking to no-one, his black eyes taking in everything.

'I don't know,' he said. 'There's… there's something about that boy that disturbs me.'

'What?' said Saraswati. 'Did he do something you haven't told me about?'

'It's not something he's done,' said Vrael. 'It's something about _him_.'

Saraswati held him close, her body warm and soft against his. 'Stop worrying, Vrael,' she said. 'Now isn't the time. Tomorrow we worry and work. Today we celebrate.'

With her there, Vrael couldn't help but relax. 'Yes,' he said. 'Today we celebrate.'


	10. The Blood Oath Celebration

Chapter Ten

The Blood-Oath Celebration

And so the celebrations began. Galbatorix passed through them in a kind of daze. He tasted dozens of foods he'd never seen before, and drank wines so fine that only riders and royalty could afford them. There was singing and dancing and poetry recitals which he forced himself to listen to, and several epics were recited as well. These were stories – legend or history, but most often a mix of both – and he listened to them with interest. There was the tale of Astrum the Gold, the great mage, and his terrible fight against a Shade – one which had claimed his life. And the famous story of Syrinx, the Warrior-in-the-Shadows, said to be unkillable, who had defeated numerous powerful foes but whose face had never been seen by a living soul. And one human bard ventured to tell the half-forgotten tale of the Night Dragon; a wild dragon with black scales who could summon storms and spit lightning instead of fire. And there was, of course, the story of Eragon – the elf who ended the dragon wars and become the first rider. He, according to this story, had been the one who defeated the Night Dragon and driven him away from Alagaësia, never to return. And he had also killed the evil Taranis, his human rival, who wanted to found a race of dark riders – riders who would use their power for evil. But Eragon's victory had ensured that the riders became a force for good in the world, and so light had prevailed over dark.

Once that story might have irritated Galbatorix, but by this time he was feeling a little giddy and only laughed at it. _'I wonder what they'd say if I told 'em I had Taranis' blood in me?'_ he remarked to Laela.

'_Probably chase you out of here with sticks,'_ she answered, grinning.

And still the celebrations went on. Night fell, and the decorations hanging from the trees started to glow with faint, magical light in all the colours of the rainbow. The air smelt of flowers and was full of the laughter and talk of a hundred different people. Elves and humans, riders and dragons, all together. Sharing their time. That was how Galbatorix thought of it. He let it all wash over him, and wandered wherever his impulse took him, meeting new people and talking to them. It seemed that word of his exploits had gone a long way – more than one person asked him about the oak tree – the Learning Tree, as it was being called – and showed admiration rather than shock over how rash he'd been.

Some time during the evening he also presented himself to the other four elders – Lachesis, Oromis, Yansan, Menulis and Saraswati – and also to the sixth big dragon, who turned out to be Thornessa, leader of the wild dragons. They proved a little more approachable than Vrael, but he was careful to show the utmost respect to them. But though most of them were friendly, they still had the same air of slight condescension which Vrael had had, as if their great age and power made talking to him a little irrelevant.

To his surprise, he found he got on best with Thornessa, who was a brown female with yellow wings. She didn't much like being in Ellesméra, as she told him outright. _'I am not a bonded dragon,'_ she explained. _'Humans and elves don't interest me much. I only came as a courtesy.'_

Galbatorix liked her. She had the same power and ferocity about her that Ilia had had, but contained. And she seemed slightly uneasy with being in a crowd, which was a feeling he knew quite well, not being particularly social himself. He sensed that she wanted to be away from all this noise, in the sky, where she could be alone and free.

When he suggested this to her, she made a coarse dragon-laugh at him and said; _'You are perceptive, little human. I think you were born in the wrong body.'_

For some reason he found that flattering. _'Thankyou, Lady Thornessa. When my training is complete I can come and visit you, if you'd like.'_

Thornessa blinked her golden eyes. _'I would like that, I think. I shall remember your name.'_

Among the other people he talked to were two familiar faces – those of Brom and Morzan. His two fellow students had returned, along with their dragons, and it was surprising to see how much Saphira and Morzan's red dragon, Idün, had grown in the interim. Both Brom and Morzan had stories to tell of their training under Oromis, and he spent a good half-hour listening to them talk. It seemed a rider's training wasn't as tough as he'd worried it might be; they claimed that Oromis was quite lenient and generous, and they had plenty of free time. In a year or so they'd be finished and ready to be presented with their swords and made full members of the order, with all the privileges and responsibilities that entailed. But, Brom added, he shouldn't expect to finish in the same sort of time.

'No,' he said, draining a goblet of wine. 'Not at all. _You'll_ probably be done in six months, with your talent. Never mind being unconscious for three weeks; you'll catch up with us like _this_ – whoops.' He snapped his fingers and accidentally dropped his goblet.

'But what do you actually do in this training?' Galbatorix asked.

'It's not much different than what we did here,' said Morzan. 'Fight training – with real swords, though, and magic. Mostly they teach you about readin' and writin' an' that stuff. Lore, Master Oromis called it. How t'be like a proper rider.' He scowled. 'He keeps tellin' me I gotta talk fancy, too. I dunno what's wrong with how I talk now. Me dad talks like this an' it never did _him_ any harm.'

'Well, it's not how an elf talks, is it?' said Galbatorix, a shade sarcastically.

'I ain't an elf,' Morzan pointed out.

'You'll be like one soon enough,' said Brom. 'It doesn't bother _me_, though. Why should it? They're so much better than humans, after all. And now, so are we.'

'There's nothing wrong with being human,' Galbatorix said hotly. 'And I'm damned if I'll let them do that to me.'

'You don't have a choice,' said Brom.

'We'll see about that,' Galbatorix vowed.

And then it was time for people to start presenting their creations. Galbatorix heard the announcement, and hurried to the spot where he'd hidden his fairth, doing his best not to spill the goblet of wine he was holding. He found it and pulled it out of the hollow tree where he'd secreted it. Holding it to his chest, he sat down on a handy log and waited for them to call him.

He need not have hurried. There were dozens of people – almost exclusively elves – who had something to offer. Galbatorix sat on his log with Laela crouched behind him, and watched, his tension slowly giving way to boredom as he had to watch an endless array of artworks be presented to the crowd. It wasn't that he didn't _like_ art, he decided. It was just that he wasn't exactly in the mood for it right now. But courtesy dictated that he stay and watch…

There were yet more poems, written for the occasion, and songs as well. Some people had brought stories. And there were paintings, sculptures, carvings of wood and stone, and items of various craftsmanship, including a new kind of weapon which the local elvish smith, Rhunön, had made to resemble a dragon's talon. Galbatorix looked closely at that, and was impressed by how well-made it looked. He knew that Rhunön made the riders' swords. One day she'd make one for him. He could hardly wait.

And then Flell's name was called. He hadn't had the chance to talk to her so far, and he watched with interest to see what she'd present.

Flell, who was clad in a beautiful light-purple gown, displayed a surprisingly elaborate creation – a large butterfly made from a light frame of twigs and covered in hundreds of petals. Galbatorix was impressed. It must have taken her hours to put it together. He'd never realised she could be so creative.

After Flell came Thrain. The purple dragon had carved a self-portrait into the side of a split log with her talons. It was a little crude, but it got a round of applause anyway.

And then it was Galbatorix's turn. He picked up his fairth and stood up, suddenly feeling a lot smaller than before. Laela had to nudge him before he went to stand in the clear spot which Thrain had just vacated. He took his place, his heart pounding in his ears, and Laela took her accustomed spot just behind him.

Galbatorix swallowed. They were all staring at him. He started to unwrap the fairth, and that was when he heard the mutterings from the crowd. He glanced up, and saw many of the elves giving him disapproving and disgusted looks. _'What's wrong with them?'_ he asked Laela.

'_I think it's the rabbit skins,'_ she answered. _'I didn't think of that…'_

His ears burning, Galbatorix hastily pulled off the skins and flung them aside, displaying his creation to everyone present. He heard them gasp.

The fairth was almost completely colourless; the only shades that appeared in it were black, white, and a little red. It showed an image of himself, clad all in white as he'd been in Laela's dream. He was wielding a white-bladed sword – the same one from his own fairth – and his mouth was open in a yell of defiance. All around him were shadowy shapes; only just identifiable by species. Elves, humans, dragons, dwarves, urgals… every race in Alagaësia. Even the ones he'd never seen. They were surrounding the picture of himself, and he was in the act of slashing back at them. His hair was ragged and he had a wild, untamed beard. There was blood on his hands and on the swordblade, and on a terrible wound right over his heart. But that wasn't the only stain on his white clothes. On the shoulders and around the collar, there were threads of black. As if the outfit was slowly changing colour. All around these images were others – an iron amulet in the shape of a dragon with a hollow, gaping eye-socket like a skull, whose edges were slowly crumbling into dust. A black sword with a broken blade. A white city outlined in black flames. A gedwëy ignaesia with an arrow through its heart. The rest of it was vague shadows, both black and white, feeding into each other like rivers.

Galbatorix stood proudly, turning so that those behind him could see it as well. It had taken days of hard work, but it was worth it. He wasn't sure what he'd made, but he knew it was beautiful beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But in mere moments his dream turned sour. He started to hear a much louder muttering than before, one which carried unmistakeably hostile overtones. _What _is _it? What has he made? Is he mocking us?_

Carina's voice carried over the heads of the crowd. 'What is it, Galbatorix?'

'It's a fairth,' Galbatorix answered, turning toward her for support. He could see her standing there among the muttering elves and curious humans.

'But a fairth of _what?_' said Carina.

'It's of a dream I had,' said Galbatorix. 'Well… Laela and I both had a nightmare on the same night. We put our dreams together and made them into a fairth. This is what we both saw, put together.'

'He's _lying!'_ a voice yelled from somewhere behind him. 'It's an abomination!'

Galbatorix wheeled around to confront whoever it was, but found himself faced by dozens of angry, near-identical faces. 'I made it,' he called back defensively. 'We made it.'

'Made an image of evil,' someone else shouted.

'Friends, he's lying,' an elf announced. 'No fairth can capture a dream. He's a liar and a defiler! No-one should have to see a picture like this! It's a _threat!'_

Galbatorix was bewildered. _'What did I do?'_ he asked Laela, frantically. _'Why are they so angry?'_

'_I don't know,'_ she answered. _'Galbatorix, we should go. They-,'_

A rock hurtled out of the crowd. It hit Galbatorix hard in the forehead, and he staggered backward, nearly losing hold of the fairth. Laela caught him, and roared furiously. _'WHO THREW THAT?'_ she bellowed, letting everyone there hear her words.

'He defiled our city by creating that!' an elf shouted back. 'This is a sacred celebration of life, and he brought that image of blood and destruction, made a false fairth and wrapped it in foul animal skins!'

Another rock was thrown. This one hit the fairth right in the centre, shattering it into a hundred pieces. The crowd jeered, and more rocks followed, thick and fast, hitting both Galbatorix and Laela.

Laela acted fast. She held her wing over Galbatorix, sheltering him. _'Come on!'_ she urged. _'Never mind about that, it's broken!'_

Galbatorix gave up his attempts to gather up the broken fairth. He let the pieces slide off the rabbit skin wrapping, tucked it under his arm, and made an awkward stumbling rush out of the clearing by Laela's side, his ears full of the shouts and taunting of the crowd. Carina helped him get away, and once they were at the edge of the party and the upheaval had died down she sat him down at the base of a tree, all concerned. 'Are you all right? Here, let me heal your forehead…'

Galbatorix batted her hand away. 'I'm fine.' To his shame, he felt hot tears trickling down his cheeks. 'What happened? What did I do? They're insane!'

'I'm sorry, Galbatorix,' said Carina. She sensibly avoided trying to comfort him with touch, settling instead for sitting down next to him. 'I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, but…'

'It was just a fairth,' said Galbatorix, coughing to cover his sobs. 'I _made_ it. It was the best I could do.'

'It was very…' Carina hesitated. 'Well, the elves are rather… I'm sure you didn't mean it, but… well, that picture you made was… it was quite violent and disturbing. The elves hold that life is sacred, you see, so they find glorification of violence offensive. As far as they were concerned, you were mocking their beliefs. And wrapping it up in leather was a bad idea. Where did you get it from, anyway?'

'Laela caught the rabbits,' Galbatorix muttered. 'I was sick of eating nothing but vegetables.'

Carina sighed. 'Giving up meat is compulsory once you become a rider. I'd advise you not to break that rule again. Here you might have managed to get away with doing what you pleased, but once you're in Ilirea things will change. Vrael isn't a mentor who'll let you go against tradition. You won't miss it much, really…'

'I don't want this,' Galbatorix burst forth. 'I don't want it! I don't want to become like an elf, I _hate_ elves. Why can't I stay human?'

'You don't have a choice,' said Carina. 'It's part of being a rider, and you should have known that before you came here. Now, calm down. This will all be forgotten by tomorrow, I promise.'

Galbatorix glared at her, and stood up. 'I won't forget this,' he said, and stalked off.

He passed an elf child with black hair, one he recognised as having attended the handling of the eggs at Einás' home. She was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. Galbatorix dumped the bundle of rabbit skins in her arms. 'Here, keep it,' he muttered. 'Go on, it won't bite, you little freak.'

The girl watched him as he disappeared, snatching a pitcher of wine and a fresh goblet from a table on his way past. Then she examined the furry blanket he'd given her, feeling it with her long fingers. It was quite nice, really…

Galbatorix didn't stop walking until he was well away from the party. He sat down heavily under a tree, poured himself some wine and emptied the goblet in one swallow. Laela joined him after a few moments, and silently watched him drink. He could feel her sorrow and bewilderment, but he was in too much of a rage to seek comfort from her.

The pitcher of wine was only half-full, and he finished it off in what felt like no time at all, then hurled it away. His aim was off, and it hit the leaf-litter, rolled a short way, and then settled. For some reason the fact that it hadn't broken only made him angrier.

He didn't have the energy to throw the goblet too, so he dropped it and then buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. 'Damn them,' he mumbled. 'Damn them all.

Laela watched him. Then, to his surprise, she spoke out loud. 'I won't forget this either,' she vowed. 'Never.'

Galbatorix looked up. There was blood on his hands, and he wiped it off on his tunic, not caring that it left a stain. His forehead was aching savagely, and he realised he must be more badly hurt than he thought. 'I hope it leaves a scar,' he said savagely.

He realised he was breathing far faster than he needed to, and forced himself to slow down. The wine had gone to his head. It made him feel reckless and invincible, but this time he was without the good cheer which wine usually brought.

'_They had no right to destroy it,'_ Laela said eventually, reverting to mental speech once again. _'It was beautiful in a way their things aren't. We made it. It was beautiful.'_

Beautiful…

There were sounds from the trees away to his left, and when Galbatorix looked up he saw Flell and Thrain. Flell had a wine stain on her dress, and her face was full of concern. 'There you are,' she said, running a little unsteadily toward him. 'Are you all right? That was awful! I thought they were going to kill you!'

Galbatorix tried to stand up, but the ground seemed to be pulling him toward it and he sat down again sharply, hitting his head on the tree. Ignoring the pain, he looked up at Flell. 'Flell,' he mumbled. 'I'm… did you come looking for me?'

'Of course I did!' said Flell. She knelt in front of him, reaching out to touch his forehead. She was very close to him now. He could feel her breath on his cheek, the warmth of her body. 'You're hurt,' she said. 'I can heal it, if you'd like…'

'I'll be all right,' said Galbatorix.

She took that the wrong way. 'Do you want me to leave? I mean, I only wanted to see if you were all right, but if you don't want-,'

'No,' said Galbatorix, more sharply than he needed to. 'No,' he said again, more gently this time. 'Stay, Flell. I need someone to be here.'

'Laela's here,' Flell pointed out.

'That's different,' said Galbatorix.

'Are you sure?' said Flell, looking at him rather anxiously. 'I mean… I thought you didn't like me.'

'I like you,' Galbatorix told her.

Flell looked away from him. 'I thought I'd done something to make you angry with me. You haven't talked to me in days, and I thought… well, I like you a lot, Galbatorix. You're so much smarter and better than me, and I thought I wasn't good enough for you, so I…'

For the rest of his life, he was never quite sure how what happened next came to pass. No matter how much he racked his brains, he simply didn't know. It was as if there were a gap in his memory of that night. One moment Flell was talking, the words pouring out of her in a way that suggested she had wanted to say them for a long time, and the next… the next moment he had pulled her toward him and kissed her. Just once, lightly, but on the lips. Flell looked at him, her blue eyes surprised. She had tears on her face, he realised.

Then she kissed him back. She pulled him to his feet, and the two of them embraced and kissed again, harder this time. There was a strange magic in the air, an invisible fire that thrummed through them both, and the trees and the soil. It was the magic of the elves, the magic of the Blood-Oath celebration, the magic that made that night what it was – one of fire, and passion, and life. Galbatorix and Flell succumbed before it, no more able to resist than leaves could resist a hurricane.

It got into Laela and Thrain as well. The two dragons nuzzled each other, rubbing their snouts together, pushing as hard as they dared, and then embraced, standing flank to flank, their wings and tails intertwined, crooning deep in their throats.

Galbatorix and Flell finally let each other go. All their fears and anger were gone, and they smiled foolishly at each other. 'You're so beautiful,' Galbatorix murmured. 'You make me feel safe.'

Flell giggled. 'Come on!' she said, and ran off through the trees, dragging him by the hand. He followed, and the two humans left the place by the Menoa Tree and dashed away, leaving the elves behind. Laela and Thrain took to the air and circled overhead, wheeling like a pair of eagles, while below them their riders ran, hand in hand, weaving among the trees and laughing like carefree children. They ran to Flell's temporary home and disappeared inside it.

And, a short time later, Laela and Thrain began to fly. High in the air over the mad, revelling elves, the two dragons looped and circled, twisting and diving and executing a fantastic midair dance, often touching and then parting again, their movements perfectly synchronised.

All those who saw it knew what it meant. Below, by the trunk of the Menoa Tree, Saraswati clasped Vrael's hand and pointed. 'Look at them,' she said.

Vrael followed the white and purple dragons with his eyes, and smiled knowingly. He knew. 'The mating flight,' he said.

'Just like the one Vandana and Nöst flew that day when we were just learners,' said Saraswati. 'Do you remember that?'

'Of course I do,' said Vrael. He kissed her, his breath a delicate touch on her cheek.

Saraswati held him close. 'Shall we make them dance it again?' she whispered in his ear.

Normally Vrael would have avoided showing his affection for her in public, but not now. The magic of the Blood-Oath celebration was affecting him just the same, as it did every year. He took Saraswati's hand, and the two of them quietly left, shedding their years and becoming, just for that evening, the light-hearted youngsters they had once been, in love with life.

And as the wild celebrations went on long into the night and the moon rose high over the treetops, Thrain and Laela danced.

Galbatorix woke up the next morning with the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. He blinked and groaned, trying to sit up. His forehead was stuck to the pillow, and a sharp pain shot through it when he pulled it free, followed by a hot, wet trickle. He touched it, and his fingers came away bloody. What had happened?

He lay there for a time, trying stupidly to remember. It came back slowly. The celebration around the Menoa Tree, the wine and the dancing, and Vrael's stern face. And the destroyed fairth, he remembered that too. They had thrown rocks at him. And after that he'd… he'd…

Beside him, Flell turned over. 'Is it morning yet?' she asked sleepily.

Galbatorix sat up sharply, which made his head hurt even more savagely. 'What happened?' he asked. He looked at Flell, and saw that she was as naked as he was. 'Did we…?'

Flell smiled. 'You didn't forget, did you?'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'No, I…' he looked at her anxiously. 'Are you… you're not upset, are you? I mean, I was drunk, and…'

Flell blinked. 'Not so loud, please. My head's killing me. No, I don't mind. Not at all. I was drunk too, anyway…' she looked at him, suddenly shy. 'Was it your first time, too?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'You really are beautiful, you know,' he said.

Flell smiled again, rather dreamily. 'And you've got blood on you,' she said, reaching toward him and touching his forehead with the gentlest touch.

Galbatorix dabbed at the injury. 'Yeah… have you got any water?'

They got up and dressed, both a little shy and awkward. Flell had a jug of water on the bedside table, and while Galbatorix was gulping down a mug of what felt like the best drink he'd ever had, he reached out mentally for Laela. _'Laela, are you there?'_

There was a pause before she responded. _'Galbatorix, is that you?'_

'_Of course it is. Who did you think it was?'_

Another paused. _'Sorry, I'm a little confused right now… are you all right?'_

'_My head hurts.'_

Laela shared a feeling of irritability. _'If you're looking for sympathy, forget it. How much did you drink last night? My head feels like it's going to explode.'_

'_You can feel it too?'_

'_Of course I can.'_ He sensed her mood lift slightly – a quick mental grin. _'Last night was incredible, wasn't it? Did you and Flell…?'_

'_Yes. Did you and Thrain…?'_

'_We flew the mating flight,'_ said Laela, with a touch of pride. _'It was wonderful.'_

Galbatorix rubbed his head. _'Laela, will you do me a favour?'_

'_If I can.'_

'_Never let me drink again.'_

The sun rose over Ellesméra, lighting the sky with a pale glow. It was morning, and the Blood-Oath celebration was over for another year. The elves were resuming their normal lives, and the guests were leaving. Vrael and the other elders prepared to return to Ilirea with their students. Galbatorix and Flell packed their belongings and saddled up their dragons in readiness to leave Ellesméra. Galbatorix was glad to leave. The elves who saw him muttered and gave him venomous looks, as if he were some kind of criminal, and he had decided he hated them. In spite of his hangover, as he climbed onto Laela's back he promised himself yet again that they would never turn him into an elf. Not in a million years.

And after that it was time to go, as he and Laela flew up and away from the elvish settlement, dwarfed by the massive forms of the elder's dragons, heading for the horizon and a new life.


	11. The Books

Chapter Eleven

Training

When Galbatorix saw Ilirea for the first time, he could hardly believe his eyes. The city loomed large on the horizon as he and Laela approached, and it was white. Its towers reared into the sky, shaped like the horns of a gigantic dragon. Coloured banners flew from the walls, decorated with dragons in every colour of the rainbow. The white city shone in the noonday sun, the very symbol of the power of the riders.

It had taken them two days to reach it, and during that time Vrael had proven that his speech at their first meeting had not been just for show. The old elf was utterly implacable. He never smiled or said anything encouraging or approving, and at the slightest sign of disobedience he would turn cold and disdainful. He didn't even have to shout; a mere glance was enough to make Galbatorix crumble inside.

Laela got the same treatment from Nöst. The big old dragon never spoke to Galbatorix directly, but he could see how he was toward Laela. He would bare his teeth at her if she rebelled, and once he rushed at her as if to attack, nearly scaring the pair of them to death. If she went astray in the air he herded her back at once, and she reported that he was constantly lecturing her in the privacy of her mind. And it only threatened to get worse once they reached Ilirea.

And now they'd reached it. Nöst flew to the largest of the towers and entered a massive hollow in its side. The other elders followed, and Laela and Thrain went too. The hole in the tower led to an enormous cavern, all white, its walls completely smooth and featureless, tapering with the shape of the tower. The five elders stood in a circle around its edges, spaced in a uniform, orderly way that suggested this was a custom. Laela and Thrain landed in the centre, and Galbatorix and Flell dismounted, standing side by side in front of their dragons and keeping their heads bowed to the elders.

Vrael spoke first. 'Welcome to Ilirea. This is the capital of the riders. From here we go forth to enforce the rule of law in Alagaësia, and here you will undergo your training in order to become one of us. You both became riders when you were bonded to your dragons, but you will only be fully accepted when your training is complete. At the end of it you will return to Ellesméra , where you will be presented with your swords. How long the training lasts is up to you. Today it begins. Once we are finished here, you will be escorted to your new lodgings and given some time to rest. But before all of that, before you are able to begin your training, you must do what all new riders do – you must take an oath before us all, pledging yourselves to us. By fate chosen, and by fate bound. Your oath will bind you to the riders, heart and soul, for the rest of your lives.' He stepped forward, offering a scroll of paper to each of them. 'Take these, and recite the oath.'

Galbatorix unrolled his scroll. It was inscribed with several lines of writing in the ancient language. Beneath them was a translation. He scanned it quickly, then looked up at Vrael as the lord of the dragon riders began to speak once again.

'Speak these words aloud in the ancient language. But first tell me… have either of you discovered your true names?'

There was a pause. 'I have,' said Galbatorix.

'You will tell it to me, after you have taken the oath,' said Vrael. 'As will you, Flell, once you have learnt it. Now, take the oath. You first.' He nodded to Galbatorix.

Galbatorix looked at the paper. He couldn't help but feel a little uneasy over what it said. This was it. Once he had spoken these words, there would be no going back. And when he told Vrael his true name he would lose all further chances. He would belong to them, and they would be able to do what they wanted with him. Once that wouldn't have bothered him… now it did. But what choice did he have.

'_I, Arren Cardockson of Teirm, swear by my soul and by my blood, and by the sea and the sky, that I shall serve the realm by upholding the laws of the Shur'tugal and enforcing their great rule upon all who dwell in this land. I shall live for nothing but duty, and by nothing but honour. I shall speak truth in all things, and give up all ties to that which is mortal and brief. I shall respect the sanctity of life, but shall not back down in the face of opposition, nor run from battle when lives are at stake. I shall do all that my elders ask of me, no matter what the circumstance, and remain loyal until my dying day. All this I swear, by the sea and the sky and the great magic that binds us all.'_

As he spoke, he could feel the power in the words flowing through him like icy water, binding him to his oath. If he ever tried to break it, he would die. He was a rider now, and at Vrael's command. Forever.

Then it was Flell's turn to take the oath, which she did without hesitating. Thrain and Laela had to take it as well, and Galbatorix waited as the two dragons recited the words for all to hear.

Once it was done, Vrael sent Flell and Thrain away and then turned to Galbatorix. 'You found your true name?'

'Yes, Master,' said Galbatorix.

'There is no need to tell me how you found it,' said Vrael. 'Only tell me if you are certain of it.'

'I am, Master.'

'Then tell it to me,' said Vrael.

Galbatorix didn't flinch. He looked straight at the elf, eye to unflinching eye, black to blue, and said; 'Vinr. My true name is Vinr.'

And from that day on, nothing was ever the same again.

It only took a few months for Galbatorix to realise just how peaceful his time in Ellesméra had really been, and how much freedom he'd had. Now his training had really begun, all that came to an end. Now he was under Vrael, and now there was no rest, no peace, no freedom, and no end in sight. Every day he got up at dawn, and had to spend three hours practising swordplay before he was even allowed to eat. The rest of the day was spent mastering the ancient language – learning how to read and write it as well as speak it. He also had to learn how to conduct an army on the battlefield, and about Alagaësia's laws, and how to hold a trial. He learned the lore of the various races under the rule of the riders, along with bits of their languages – even that of the hated urgals. He was instructed in Alagaësian history, too, and learnt of the various conquests the riders had made.

That was when he discovered something that truly disturbed him. He found that, not only had the riders ruthlessly crushed all opposition, but they had actually driven some races to extinction, races he'd never heard of. Apparently there had once been shapeshifters living in the deep forests, and a race of elves known as the silver elves, who worshipped trees. But they were all gone now – 'vanished' was how Vrael described it. When Galbatorix asked for more information, he was told that they had opposed the riders' rule and, after they had been defeated, chose death rather than assimilation.

Or that was how Vrael put it, anyway. Perhaps Galbatorix would have simply accepted this explanation, but for one thing. One of the races Vrael named as having 'vanished' was that of the dark elves. His father's people. Vrael referred to the dark elves as evil. 'They consorted with black powers and sought to use their corrupted magic to gain power for themselves,' the old elf declared. 'They were an accursed race, and Alagaësia is the cleaner for having been rid of them.'

Galbatorix listened to this in silence. Was he right? Had his father been a monster? He had come to respect Vrael's wisdom, but something inside him wouldn't quite accept that notion.

'How can an entire race of people be evil?' he asked.

Vrael's expression was unwavering. 'Some things should never have come into being.'

Galbatorix had to be content with that.

And his training continued, on and on. He shared some lessons with Flell, but much of the time he was alone. The most distressing part of it all was that he was also parted from Laela. She spent her days with Nöst and Thrain, undergoing her own training, which was no less harsh than his own. They barely had time to talk.

The feeling of isolation this gave him brought home just how close he and Laela had become during their time in Ellesméra. Being without her made him feel lost, as if he were missing part of himself. It gave him a deep ache in his heart, and although they were reunited most evenings he still hated it. It felt like he was missing the best part of their time together; it seemed like she grew bigger every day. And her personality seemed to be changing, too. There were no more laughs, no more gentle teasing. Now she was terse and irritable, and frustratingly distant, as if she didn't know him any more.

It affected him too. Without her there to cheer him up and bring out his lighter side, he became sullen and withdrawn, and silent too. He did everything that was asked of him without question, but he did it without joy. His conversations with Vrael were terse and formal, and although the old elf did try to make him open up he refused. He respected his mentor, but he neither liked nor fully trusted him.

The only joy left in his life at that time was Flell. In Laela's absence she had become the only constant friend he had. She too was suffering under Vrael's tough discipline and difficult lessons, and she and Galbatorix turned to each other for comfort. Their tentative relationship had become a strong, loving bond, and during mealtimes they would sit together and talk quietly. It didn't matter what they talked about. The act itself was enough. Flell too was changing. She had lost her mischievous smile and irreverent sense of humour, and become quiet and a little sad. She was missing Thrain, he knew. But as the months passed and the end of their first year of training approached, he realised it was something more than that. She'd been half a girl when he met her, but not any more. Had he been half a boy? He supposed so. But he'd never realised that growing up would be like this. That it would leave him feeling so alone.

He learned more of magic in that time, too. Once he had mastered the ancient language, Vrael began teaching him how to cast spells without using words – a more dangerous way, but just as effective.

And he excelled at it. He excelled at everything, in fact, though he didn't really know it. Vrael never let him know just how astonishingly fast he was learning; in fact he was so harsh toward him that he came to believe he was hopelessly stupid and inadequate.

But only a hint of Galbatorix's talents had been revealed in Ellesméra, and now he was beginning to show their true depths. His command over magic and his prowess with psychic forces astounded both Vrael and his fellow elders, who privately agreed that already outstripped some of the most respected magic-users in the land. He mastered combat with similar ease, and had to move on to a new sparring partner three times in one week. In a mere three months he caught up with his fellow students, who'd begun their training before him, and then he outstripped them.

By the end of his first year of training, Vrael was unable to hide it from him any longer. He put down the book he had been using to instruct him and Flell in magic, and said; 'That's it. Fell, stay with me. Arren… you're free to spend the rest of the day however you choose.'

Galbatorix stared at him. 'But… Master Vrael, what did I do?'

'Nothing,' said Vrael. 'You've done nothing. But there's nothing more I can teach you now. You've mastered the art of magic. Everything else must come from experience, but there's nothing more I can do. Go.'

Galbatorix left, his mind reeling. He didn't believe for one moment that Vrael was telling the truth. There _had_ to be more left to learn. And he'd only been doing it for a year. For the last three days Vrael had done nothing but complain and push him harder, and he'd become convinced that he was slipping. The sudden change of pace left him feeling confused and nervous rather than proud. And now he had some time to do whatever he wanted. The last time he'd been free from his lessons had been the previous month, when the day of the First Hatching had come again and he and Flell had attended the celebrations in the city. It had been an opportunity to spend time with their dragons again, but they hadn't seen any of their fellow students since leaving Ellesméra. It was unusual for all the elders to be in Ilirea at the same time, and students stayed with their masters until their training was complete. Brom and Morzan were in Vroengard with elder Oromis, but he would probably meet them again at this year's Blood Oath celebration.

Feeling at a loose end, he wandered toward the library. It was the largest one in Alagaësia, and he'd spent countless hours in there, reading dry books. But he couldn't think of anywhere else to go, and besides, there was something he wanted to find.

The library was cone-shaped like the tower it was built into, and its white walls were lined with books. Many of the shelves were so high up they had to be reached by ladder. Galbatorix headed straight for the nearest ladder, and climbed nimbly up it until he reached a shelf which was lined with ledgers – hundreds and hundreds of them. They contained the official records of everything the riders had done during their reign; from taxation to building. And legal cases.

It took some time for him to find the set of books dated to the year of his birth. He selected the one labelled _Laws and Sentences,_ and carried it down the ladder to one of the tables. He pulled out a chair with his foot, and sat down, dumping the book on the table. It was very big and heavy, and he opened it. That raised a cloud of dust. Galbatorix sneezed. Rubbing his nose, he turned the musty pages, his eyes flicking over the endless lines of neat inked writing. The book was arranged according to the various provinces, and he searched through it until he found the section concerned with Teirm.

And that was where he found it. Just a brief entry, placed near the bottom of the page. As if it didn't matter very much.

_Two weeks before the day of the Sixth Hatching, in the eight hundred and eighty-seventh year of the rule of the Shur'tugal. _

_The noblewoman Ingë Taranisäii, nineteen years old, was brought before Elder Menulis on a charge of obscenity. Also presented was the slave Skandar Traeganni, of the race of the Dark Elves, age unknown. _

_The trial took place over the course of seven days. On the sixth day, Skandar Traeganni was sentenced to death for having violated the laws binding slaves and freeborn. Ingë Taranisäii was offered a pardon under condition of terminating her pregnancy by him, but spurned the offer and was sentenced to die beside him upon the birth of the child. _

_Sentence was carried out on the Day of the Seventh Hatching. _

Galbatorix read the entry twice. He thought he should have felt sad, but he didn't. All he felt was a cold emptiness inside him.

A tear fell onto the page, blurring the inked words, and it was only then that he realised he was crying. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly, and though he tried to contain himself the tears leaked between his fingers, hot and wet. When he forced himself to look at the words again, they were blurred and he couldn't read them any more. But they were all that remained to prove that his parents had ever existed. Them, and he himself. He was the living proof.

After his sorrow came fear. What if someone else read this record? What if they found out what he really was? Tommen and Bruin and their friends had nearly killed him, but they were just common thugs. How would the riders in their wisdom react? He knew enough of their ways by now to know they weren't above breaking their own laws if they felt like it. He'd seen the wistful look in Vrael's eyes when he talked about Saraswati, and once he'd secretly observed them kissing when they thought they were alone. They obviously knew it was forbidden for elves and humans to be lovers, but they were doing it anyway. After all, who had the power to punish them for it?

The cynicism of it revolted him. He who enforces the law is above the law, apparently. But his parents had died for doing exactly what Vrael and Saraswati were doing. And _they_ would never be beheaded in front of a jeering crowd.

He looked at the entry again. His tears had dried up, and the words were clear enough. It meant he could re-read the part about his mother. _…offered a pardon under condition of terminating her pregnancy… _she didn't have to die. They would have let her live if she killed her son – him. But she hadn't. She had chosen death so that he could live.

A sweet ache arose in his chest. Ingë Taranisäii, nineteen years old. The mother he would never know, but who had loved him. _Must_ have loved him. She had loved him so much that she had died for him. His instinct had been right. She must have known that she would never get to raise him herself, but she had given him the greatest gift she could; the gift of life, given freely and with love.

Sitting there, looking at those words, he felt a connection with her that had never truly been there before. He touched the damp paper with his fingers, as if trying to absorb what was written on them into his own body, and closed his eyes. _Mother…_

But what about his father? Had Skandar Traeganni had the chance to see his newborn son before they dragged him to the block? And if he had, what had he felt? Had he loved him as Ingë did, or hated him? What had he even _looked_ like?

Galbatorix looked up quickly. There was no-one else in the library. He returned to the ladder and climbed it as fast as he could. Once at the top, he scoured the record books, not even certain what he was looking for. He didn't know what year the conquest of the dark elves had taken place in. In the end, he took down as many volumes as he could carry, each one entitled _Of Wars and Conflicts_ and labelled for a different year, and laboriously carried them back to the table.

For the next hour or so, he searched through the books, looking for any mention of dark elves. None of them had indexes, and it was a slow, tedious process.

But it wasn't long before he almost forgot about the dark elves altogether. His eyes widened as he scanned the pages. He finished with the first volume and went onto the next, and then the next, and in every one of them he discovered things that horrified him. The conquests of the riders…

Vrael had lied. Or, at least, had only revealed a fraction of the truth. The riders hadn't just destroyed one or two races – they had destroyed _thousands_. An endless list of long-forgotten peoples and species, some familiar from old stories, but most completely foreign to him. And all of them – every single one – had been driven to extinction. And not by accident but by design. The riders' design.

The list was endless, each one carefully inked onto the pages in precise, sterile terms.

_The last tribe of the Durgians, a smaller species of urgal believed to be half-human, massacred at Marna. No survivors._

_The conflict with the pygmy Plains Dragons came to a head on this day. The remaining adults succumbed following the removal of water from what is now the Hadarac Desert. Twelve eggs salvaged and entrusted to Elder Yansan._

_An alliance between the Wild Men of the East and the Silver Elves was crushed in a battle at Oslion. A junior rider sent to negotiate the surrender of the Silver Elves during the aftermath returned with the news that the poisoning and subsequent death of the sacred Trees had driven many adult Silver Elves to hang themselves in sorrow. The remainder show no interest in either battle or surrender and in fact may well be completely gone within two years. _

_ETA: A report reached Ilirea today stating that the last of the Silver Elves are now dead. Their land has been given to the Southern Elves under Arian the Bold._

_A shapeshifter, believed to have survived the destruction of Weirwood Forest near the Beor Mountains, was sighted near Ellesméra. The senior rider Inara was sent to dispose of him, but was unsuccessful._

_The race of weredragons, believed to be extinct, was found to have left a few survivors living in secret among both humans and dragons. The fugitives were hunted down and killed._

_A pair of werewolves living in Furnost were reported. Riders were promptly sent, but the creatures were beaten to death by their neighbours before their arrival._

_Rufus Greatblade, King of the Red Dwarves, refused to supply a Southern Elvish army with iron. An assassination attempt proved successful, and a new Red Dwarvish King chosen with the approval of the Rider Elders. _

_ETA: The second King was murdered by his own people, but their subsequent assault on Orthíad was dealt with after a siege lasting two weeks. The tunnels of the Red Dwarves have been given to our allies, the Northern Dwarves, and the surviving Red Dwarves made outcast._

_ETA: The last of the Red Dwarves is now believed to have died of disease._

And at last, there it was.

_Upon this day, an attack of the Southern Elves took place upon the race of the Northern Elves, also known as the Dark Elves. The assault was led by Vrael himself, who personally defeated and killed their leader, Graethen, in single combat. The Dark Elvish noble Skraed Traeganni attempted to negotiate a surrender, but was refused on the grounds of having broken an oath made in the ancient language. The Dark Elves were subsequently massacred and their settlement destroyed. Of the captives taken all were children. These were spared, having a spell cast upon them to permanently rob them of their magic before being sold as slaves in the cities of Teirm, Dras-Leona and Gil'ead. It is believed that some adults may have escaped the massacre and fled to the North in the direction of Rhaenön, but thus far the rumours remain unsubstantiated._

And that was all. The entry was dated to about fifty years before his birth.

Galbatorix re-read it several times, then closed the book with a snap. He felt cold all over.

So this was it. _This_ was the glory of the riders – this list of words that was the only thing left of the Red Dwarves, the Silver Elves, the weredragons, and hundreds of others. All this devastation, not only condoned by the riders, but conducted by them. And he was one of them.

He put the books aside, feeling sick. When he glanced at the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm, he suddenly wished he could tear it off. The riders had destroyed his father's people, and here he was, living in their city, training to be one of them. How could he possibly have been proud of that? He didn't want to be part of a group that did things like this, he didn't want…

But an image of Laela came to him at that moment, and some of his rage died down. No. He still wanted to be a rider; he _was_ a rider, it was part of what made him who he was. Being one didn't make him responsible for what other riders had done, any more than a murderer's brother would be guilty of his sibling's crime.

In any case, the real question here was not _who_ but _why._ Why had the riders done this? Vrael had taught him that being a leader meant putting aside your personal feelings and being completely even-handed, and also that a leader should not shy away from being ruthless if it was necessary.

'Human beings and other lesser races will do as they're commanded only if they respect the one who gives the command. And they will not respect someone they consider weaker or less decisive than themselves. You must never show weakness in front of those who are inferior to you. Rebellions start out of greed and insolence as often as from discontent. What people want is power. You must make it clear to them that they cannot take it from you. If you do this, they will remain loyal.'

Galbatorix had listened to him say this, and seen the sense in it. It was true. After all, why had he tried to become a rider in the first place? Because he felt powerless and wanted to become powerful. Other people wanted money – because money was power. Or property – property was also power.

Power, as the old saying went, corrupts.

'And absolute power corrupts absolutely,' he muttered.

Moving slowly and mechanically, he stacked the books in order, ready to take them back up the ladder. He came to the one with the tear-stained pages last. He looked at the record of his parents' execution again, then impulsively tore the page out and stuffed it into his tunic. Then he closed the book, put it on top of the stack, and carried the lot back up the ladder. Balanced precariously at the top, he returned the books to their rightful places on the shelves. Right now he needed someone to talk to. Not Flell. He needed someone he trusted absolutely, and he didn't care if she was in the middle of a lesson right now. He'd go to her, and-

'There you are.'

Galbatorix looked down into the library. Vrael was standing in the doorway, looking at him with the stern, displeased expression he was by now very familiar with.

Galbatorix sighed and slid down the ladder. Vrael came to meet him, saying; 'I've been looking for you. You should have been in the training yard by now. Hurry up.'

'Yes, Master,' said Galbatorix.

He went with Vrael, saying nothing. Talking too much was a sure-fire way of irritating the old elf.

But he just had to ask.

'Master?'

'Yes?' said Vrael.

'What did you mean when you said you had nothing more to teach me?'

'I meant what I said,' Vrael told him irritably. 'There's nothing more I can teach you about the principles of magic. I fail to see how you could misunderstand that.'

'I understand, Master,' said Galbatorix, who was used to this sort of thing by now. 'But last week you told me I was a hopeless idiot and I'd never get the hang of it in a million years.'

Vrael snorted. 'The hopeless idiot part is correct if you didn't realise I only said that to make you try harder. Have you _really _failed to see what was really going on?'

'I'm not sure I know what you mean, Master,' said Galbatorix, with a touch of sarcasm.

'That you, Arren Cardockson, are the most talented student I have ever seen,' said Vrael, somehow managing to make it sound like an accusation. 'And that none of us were surprised when you mastered magic so quickly.'

Galbatorix gaped at him. 'Are you serious, Master?'

'I never lie, boy,' said Vrael. Only he could make the word 'boy' sound so disdainful. 'In fact, I fully expect you to have completed your training in time for the Blood-Oath celebration.'

'The Blood-Oath – but that's-,'

'I know. I suggest you refrain from boasting about it to Flell, who's having enough trouble keeping up with you already. Now, be quiet. We'll spar again today.'

They'd reached the practise yard, which was an open space between two of the towers. It was simply an area of bare earth, lined with archery butts on one side. There were various wooden dummies and other bits of equipment designed for weapons training, and a rack of practise swords, axes, spears, bows and shields. Galbatorix selected his favourite sword. It had a wooden handle, but the blade was made of metal, albeit blunted and with a rounded point.

Flell was already there, sparring with the elvish weapons master. Galbatorix had learnt from him for quite a long time, but by now his sparring partner was a different elf, one said to be the second greatest swordsman in Alagaësia.

That elf, however, wasn't here.

Galbatorix looked questioningly at Vrael, holding his practise sword loosely in one hand.

Vrael drew his own sword, the white-bladed weapon known as _Snœr'ónd_ – 'soul of snow'. 'Kreath won't be your partner today,' he said. 'I will.'

Galbatorix stared at him, speechless.

Vrael gave him a contemptuous look. 'Surely you aren't afraid to fight me?'

_That_ stung Galbatorix into action. He raised his sword and attacked without warning.

Vrael was ready. He brought Snœr'ónd up, easily blocking the practise sword, and then launched his own assault.

For the next few minutes master and student fought each other, their swords making loud ringing sounds when they struck each other. Both were careful not to hit each other too hard, but the blades – one blunted by magic, the other by design – still inflicted painful bruises whenever they connected with flesh.

Vrael's confident assurance only lasted a short time. His initial attack was quick and ruthless, intended to disarm Galbatorix as soon as possible and hopefully teach him a lesson in the process. But the old elf soon found himself unpleasantly surprised. Galbatorix blocked all of his attacks and counter-attacked in the blink of an eye, and before long Vrael found himself working very hard just to hold his own. He was infuriated. No-one had been able to match him in swordplay for a very long time, and he'd grown accustomed to defeating any opponent in a matter of minutes.

He drove forward, as hard and fast as he could, drawing on all his long experience, utterly determined to win. Snœr'ónd became a white blur in the air, flicking toward Galbatorix's face, arms and chest like a striking snake. But the worn old practise sword was just as fast, and it would not leave the young man's hand.

Galbatorix fought quietly, as he always did, but fiercely, graceful and sinewy like a wildcat, a slight furrowing of his forehead the only sign of concentration he gave. Underneath, however, he was far less calm. This was the first time he'd ever faced Vrael in direct competition, and he realised later on that he had been longing for the chance to outdo him.

From somewhere out of the blue, Vrael's white sword caught him a direct blow to the chest. The pain was intense and sudden, and he let out a yell.

For a fraction of a second the two of them paused, breathing heavily and glaring at each other. And then…

And then Galbatorix found his perspective changing. All of a sudden, the white-haired elf before him was not Vrael, his master and mentor, Lord of the riders and ruler of Alagaësia. What he saw then was a cold, arrogant old elf who had, ever since their first meeting, tried to make him ashamed of what he was. What he saw was the one who had destroyed his father's people and sold the survivors into slavery.

A sudden, wild scream came from his throat, and he hurled himself at Vrael. He caught him off-guard and launched a savage assault on him. The blunt old practise sword smacked into the old elf's arms and shoulders, striking him a dozen times before he had a chance to respond. Vrael tried to defend himself, but he found himself faced by something he was unprepared for. It was like trying to fight an oncoming storm with a sword. Yet he stood firm all the same.

Galbatorix's boot lashed out. It hit Vrael in the shin. The elf's leg buckled, and that was all the chance he needed. Before he knew what was happening, Vrael found himself lying on his back while Snœr'ónd was sent flying, and Galbatorix was standing over him, holding the practise sword to his throat.

There was dead silence for about a minute, broken only by their heavy breathing.

Vrael looked up, utterly shocked, and saw his student standing over him, his unreadable eyes full of fierce triumph. The blunted point of the practise sword was pressing into his throat, and his ribs seared with pain from the blow that had knocked him down.

Galbatorix kept hold of the practise sword. He could feel himself trembling slightly from his exertions, but he was burning with a strange, savage energy. Underneath that was shock. His rational brain was trying to tell him what was going on, but he couldn't quite hear it. Just then, just for a second, he thought he could feel the presence of his parents, standing just behind him and watching him. But he didn't know what they were saying.

'I yield.'

Galbatorix blinked. The real world came rushing back, and he realised that Flell and her sparring partner had stopped their mock-fight and were both staring at him. He was still holding the practise sword to Vrael's throat, and the elf was looking up at him with nothing but amazement in his eyes.

'I yield,' Vrael said again. 'The victory is yours.'

Galbatorix withdrew the practise sword, and Vrael got up, cringing and putting a hand to his ribcage. He retrieved his own sword and put it back into its sheath on his back, saying nothing all the while.

'I'm sorry-,' Galbatorix began.

'Silence,' Vrael commanded. He faced his student, his expression unreadable. 'You have beaten me in combat,' he said. 'Your training is complete.'

Galbatorix blinked again. 'What?'

'Your training is complete,' Vrael repeated patiently. 'You defeated me. I cannot teach you anything more. I will send a message to Ellesméra and they will begin forging your sword.'

Galbatorix stared at him, still not quite comprehending what he was hearing. He had beaten him. He'd made him yield. But he didn't understand why Vrael had simply given up. Why hadn't he used magic? The old elf was proud – he never backed down easily. The idea that he would simply admit defeat like that was bizarre.

Vrael looked back at him, unwavering.

Or not quite. Just for a second, his expression changed. It wasn't much. Just a momentary flicker, a twitch of the mouth, something most people would have missed. But Galbatorix saw it, and he realised what it meant.

Vrael was afraid of him.


	12. Dras Leona

Chapter Twelve

Dras-Leona

Laela crouched by the boulder, looking at it irritably. It was bigger than she was, and extremely heavy. The side of it closest to her was riddled with gouge-marks, and the ground beneath her claws was furrowed as if by a plough.

Nöst, towering over her to the left, gave her a stern look. _'Try again.'_

Laela sighed and rested her front claws against the boulder. She braced herself on the ground, and pushed with all her might. Her hind claws dug deep into the ground, and the muscles on her flanks moved under the scales, flexing and straining powerfully.

The boulder moved a fraction. Laela increased her efforts, baring her teeth in a silent snarl.

Her hind legs started to slip. She inched them forward, digging her claws as deep as she could, and put her full weight into it, until red lights flashed on and off in front of her eyes. She could feel her bones and joints twinging painfully, but she kept going until the only thing driving her was sheer willpower. She roared, and at last the boulder rolled out of the hollow it had rested in. Laela withdrew her claws and sat back gratefully.

Then, to her fury, the boulder rolled straight back into place. The white dragon snarled and flung herself bodily at it, battering herself against the solid stone, so angry she didn't notice the pain.

Nöst stood by patiently until her rage was spent, and she subsided onto the ground, panting.

'_Anger will get you nowhere,'_ said Nöst. _'Calm yourself, Laela.'_

Laela, lying on her stomach, glared up at him. _'Yes, master.'_

'_Rest, and then try again,'_ said Nöst.

Laela got up slowly, feeling her heart pounding in her ears. While she crouched there, trying to get her breath back, she felt Galbatorix's presence in her mind.

'_What is it?'_ she asked. _'I'm busy.'_

'_That hurt,'_ the boy's voice said reproachfully. _'What did you do, fly into a wall?'_

'_Not quite. Nöst has me trying to move some damn boulder. What do you want?'_

Nöst was watching her. _'Are you ready to continue?'_

Laela glanced distractedly at him. _'Galbatorix is calling me,'_ she said.

'_Well then tell him you can't come,'_ said Nöst.

Laela paused. _'I told him that.'_

'_What did he say?'_

'_He said this is more important, damn you,'_ said Laela, with a hint of sly amusement.

Nöst sighed. _'The human is as impatient as you are.'_

Laela opened and closed her wings in a shrug. _'I have to go to him,'_ she said. _'He needs me.'_

'_Then go,'_ said Nöst. _'And hope it's as important as he seems to think it is.'_

Laela dipped her head briefly toward him and flew away.

The lesson had been taking place in the forest which surrounded the city, and it took only a minute or two to get back. Finding Galbatorix wasn't hard. Knowing where he was came as naturally to her as knowing that her wings were on her back and her teeth in her mouth.

He was at the top of the tallest of the six towers of Ilirea, sitting on an open balcony designed for dragons to land on, his hair blowing in the wind. Laela landed neatly beside him and sat on her haunches, her tail coiled around him as always. She noticed that he looked rather pensive; he was sitting with his shoulders hunched, hugging his knees as he often did when he was thinking deeply.

Seeing him, Laela felt a little surge of sadness. She'd seen so little of him over the last year, and the time they had spent together had been all too fleeting. And every time she had been with him, he'd been so hard to connect with all of a sudden. The brash, touchingly wounded boy she had hatched for had changed into a cynical, bad-tempered young man who would not share his feelings with her as he'd once done so freely, even in spite of their mental link. And she had longed for a way to reach out to him, but had not been able to find one. What had once been so easy and natural was suddenly beyond her, and many nights she had lain awake in her cold, solitary roost and shed tears of frustration and loneliness.

So when Galbatorix had suddenly called for her in the middle of a lesson, hope had risen in her chest.

She came to him more than prepared to vent her anger at him for leaving her alone, but when she saw him, sitting there and looking so vulnerable, all she wanted to do was reach out to him and comfort him, to tell him she was there and would not leave him again.

But she couldn't find the words, and sat there uselessly, waiting for him to speak first.

He looked up at her. She had grown a lot during their time in Ilirea, and her foreleg was now as long as he was tall.

The silence drew out a little longer, and Galbatorix finally broke it by saying; _'I didn't get you into trouble with Nöst, did I?'_

'_Him?'_ said Laela. _'Oh, well… he wasn't too pleased. But I told him you needed me and he let me go.'_

'_Oh.'_ He seemed disappointed, but she wasn't sure why.

'_To be honest,'_ she said, to hide her embarrassment, _'I would have come with or without his permission.'_

Galbatorix looked up at her again, wearing the first smile she'd seen on his face in a long time. _'Really?'_

'_Of course I would!'_ said Laela. _'They've kept us apart too long.'_

It was as if a floodgate had been opened. _'They have!'_ Galbatorix exclaimed. _'I missed you so much, Laela. What were they thinking? I thought…'_

'_Yes?'_ said Laela. Nöst had taught her that what people were reluctant to say was often what mattered the most.

'_I used to think I was just, well, me,'_ said Galbatorix, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. _'Just me, alone. I did everything on my own. I didn't have any friends. That was how I liked it. I thought it made me special. And after we were pulled apart like that, I thought I could live with it because I had before.'_ He looked her in the face, that sweet vulnerability still written in his eyes. _'But I can't,'_ he said simply. _'I can't bear to be apart from you, Laela. And being away from you all this time made me feel like I was going crazy. Even when we met, I couldn't talk to you any more. It was horrible.'_

It was the same for me. Laela wanted to say it. I felt the same. I missed you until I thought I would die. But she couldn't say it, and she didn't need to say it either. He already knew.

She draped her wing over him, encasing him in a white and silver cave. It was her way of showing that he was in her protection – both physical and spiritual.

The two of them stayed like that for some time, watching the clouds drift across the sky.

Then Galbatorix said; _'Vrael told me… my training's completed.'_

'_It… what?'_ said Laela. _'Completed? Are you sure?'_

'_Yes. He told me he's going to send a message to Ellesméra so they'll start making my sword. I told him… I made a sketch of the fairth I made and asked him to send it as well.'_

Laela rustled her free wing. _'Even I didn't expect this. So quickly? What did you do to make the old grouch's mind up for him?'_

'_We sparred in the training yard, and I won,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Afterwards he said he had nothing more to teach me.'_

'_What, just like that?'_ said Laela. _'What do you do now?'_

'_Well… how far along are you in your own training?'_

Laela flicked her snout dismissively. _'Far enough. Nöst never tells me how well I'm doing. He only complains and gives orders. He treats me like an idiot.'_

'_I know what _that_ feels like,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Trust me. Anyway… they'll give me my sword and make me a full rider at the Blood-Oath celebration.'_

'_But that's weeks away,'_ said Laela. _'What are you supposed to do until then?'_

'_I asked Vrael the same question,'_ said Galbatorix. _'And he said I could do whatever I wanted. But he added that he had an assignment he could send me on if I was interested. A taste of what fully-trained riders do, he said.'_

'_An assignment?'_ said Laela. _'What kind?'_

'_There's been a Ra'zac spotted near Dras-Leona,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Someone has to go and chase the thing, and kill it.' _

'_A Ra'zac?'_ said Laela. _'Aren't they… those things that eat people?'_

'_Yes. I've seen pictures of them in books. They look like-,'_ he broke off and showed her an image of what he'd seen. It showed a hunched figure in a hooded robe. A serrated claw showed through the sleeve. He shared a second picture, one which showed the creature unrobed.

Laela bared her teeth in disgust. _'Ugh. It's horrible.'_

'_Very. This one's been snatching people who stray too far from the city. If you'd like, we can go and put paid to the monster. So… are you interested?'  
_Laela grinned and spread her wings wide. _'A chance for some action and to spend time with you again… did you really need to ask me at all?'_

'_Well, I thought it would be more polite if-,'_

'_Oh, shut up and go tell Vrael we accept,'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix stood up, grinning like an idiot. _'I'd be happy to.'_

He'd never expected it to be so easy, but it was. Once he'd told Vrael he was willing to go on the assignment, he spent the rest of the day preparing to leave. He packed a bag with spare clothes and other supplies, and was given access to the armoury so that he could choose a sword and some armour.

He selected a fine long sword which, though it was nowhere near as good as a true rider's sword, was still high-quality and about the same size and shape. He also chose a light breastplate and a pair of gauntlets, but left it at that as far as armour went. Vrael had taught him that there were two kinds of fighter – the sort who relied on brute strength and the sort who relied on speed. The former kind needed full armour, but he was the second kind and too much armour always made him feel imprisoned.

There was dragon armour available for Laela, but she refused to wear it. Dragons usually only wore armour in battle, and it would only slow her down. She waited for him up on one of the platforms on the tower built for that very purpose, and once he'd gathered everything he needed he rejoined her. She was already wearing her saddle – this one a much larger and more substantial thing, made to last. Laela crouched patiently while he tied his bags to the saddle.

'_Right,'_ he said once this was done. _'I suppose that's everything…'_

The door leading back into the tower opened, and Flell came through it and hurried to join them. 'There you are!' she said. 'I thought I'd missed you. You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?'

Galbatorix put his arm around her. 'Hello, Flell. I was wondering if you'd come and see me off, but I didn't think Vrael would let you.'

'I only just found out you were leaving,' said Flell. 'Are you really going to fight a _Ra'zac?_'

Galbatorix nodded. 'There's one lurking around near Dras-Leona, snatching people. We'll put a stop to it.'

'But aren't they dangerous?' said Flell. 'What if you get hurt?'

'Dangerous? To me? Not in a million years,' Galbatorix said airily. 'I'll bring you back its head as a present.'

Flell shuddered. 'Yuck. Please don't.'

Galbatorix embraced and kissed her. She kissed him back. 'Be careful, won't you?' she murmured. 'Look after yourself, my sweet Galby.'

Galbatorix let go of her. _'Galby?'_

'What? I think it's cute,' said Flell.

He grinned despite himself. 'Just don't call me that when anyone else is listening.'

Flell stood back as he climbed into Laela's saddle and strapped his legs into place. 'Just be careful,' she said again.

'I'll be _fine_,' said Galbatorix. 'Honestly. When me and Laela are together, nothing and no-one can stand up to us.'

Laela growled. _'Nothing and no-one,'_ she agreed.

'I'll be back in a few days,' Galbatorix added. 'See you later, Flell.'

Laela took off, circled the towers a few times as she gained height, and then flew away from Ilirea with slow, steady wingbeats.

'_Now,'_ she said after a moment or two, _'Which way to Dras-Leona?'_

Galbatorix shared a mental image of a map of Alagaësia he'd studied, and, studying it between them, they plotted a course toward the city. The action was simple and natural; they did it in minutes, without saying a single word. Two minds thinking as one. It was something their masters had taught them, and was a reason for the supposed higher intelligence of a rider. In fact plenty of riders were of average intelligence, and some were even a little slow, but two minds working together could outclass any ordinary thinker with ease.

Laela turned West, and their journey began. _'We should be there in a day or so,'_ said the white dragon. _'No need to hurry.'_

Galbatorix relaxed in the saddle, and let himself enjoy the sensation of flying. It had been some time since he'd last ridden Laela, and he realised now how much he'd missed it. The gentle rise and fall, which had once scared him so much, was soothing, and he felt the wind blow through his hair, like a cool caress. He sighed. Only a few hours ago, life had been hard and complicated and full of things to worry about, but now it was so simple. No more lessons, no more humiliation, no more of Vrael's little unkindnesses. Now it was just him, and Laela, and a job to do, and the world was at his feet. He was free.

He wallowed in this thought for an hour or so, and let his mind wander. Once the idea of fighting a monster like a Ra'zac would have frightened him, but not any more. He was a rider now, and a grown man. His command of magic was complete. He could use a sword or a bow with equal skill, govern a city or command an army in battle. And first and most importantly, he had Laela. His friend, his partner, his comrade in arms, his other and stronger half. With her at his side, nothing scared him and no challenge was insurmountable. He almost laughed aloud at that thought. How could anyone else bear to be alone? He couldn't imagine how he'd lived without her before, and the idea of someone going their whole life without knowing what it was like to be so… so _complete_ was almost frightening. Like only having half a soul.

But his elation didn't last forever. As the sky began to darken, he moved on to other thoughts. He remembered the books in the library, with a little chill at the base of his spine. How could he have forgotten that?

Laela was quick to notice his change in mood. _'What's up?'_

'_Oh… nothing.'_

'_Don't even think about hiding anything from me,'_ said Laela. _'Just tell me. Or else.'_

'_Or else what?'_

'_Or else I'll fly up above the clouds and you'll freeze your widdle off.'_

Galbatorix sniggered. _'My gods… where did you even _learn_ that word? You're so weird.'_

'_Takes one to know one. Now, what's the problem?'_

Galbatorix's amusement faded. _'I found out something today. In the library. About my father's people.'_

'_Oh?'_ Laela was paying close attention now.

'_They _killed_ them, Laela,'_ said Galbatorix. _'The riders! They killed my father's people! All of them! And Vrael was there. He _helped_ them do it.'_

He sensed Laela's unhappy surprise. _'Why?'_

'_I don't know why. Vrael said the dark elves were evil, but… how can that be true? He said they used black magic, dark spirits… what if it's true? I don't know who to believe, but… how can an entire race be evil? And even if they were, how can the riders just kill them all like that?'_

'_These things happen in war,' _said Laela, in a hesitating kind of way.

'_But my father… the riders sold him into slavery. He was only a child. How could anyone do that to a child? And my father… my father can't have been evil. He just can't.'_

'_Galbatorix, you never met him,'_ Laela said gently. _'You'll never know.'_

'_But I feel it,'_ said Galbatorix. He touched his chest, right over his heart. _'My father is part of who I am. I'll never know him, but I'm all that's left of him. The dark elves… they're half of my inheritance. Half of me. And if Vrael's right…'_

'_Don't be ridiculous,'_ said Laela. _'You can't _inherit _evil. Evil is what you do, not what you are. The dark elves are gone.'_

'_But it wasn't just them,'_ said Galbatorix. _'There were others… thousands of them. Races I never knew existed. Red dwarves, silver elves, plains dragons, werewolves, shape-shifters, Halflings, sand people, unicorn herders, yellowskins, Drei'toza… so many of them, all written down in those books, all of them gone forever. Just like my father's people. The riders _killed_ them, Laela. Like they were animals to be slaughtered. I just can't… and I found the record.'_

'_What record?'_ said Laela.

'_The one about my parents. How they were executed. Just because they loved each other! And my mother…'_ his mental voice broke. _'My mother… they would have let her live. If she had let them kill her child… me. If she had stopped me from being born. But she wouldn't, so they killed her. She was nineteen. She was barely older than I am. And they killed her.'_

'_The riders did all that…'_ said Laela.

'_Yes. And now I'm one of them. Gods, Laela… what if they find out about me? What will they do to me?'_

'_Don't tell them,'_ said Laela.

'_But what if someone starts asking questions? All they have to do is ask my foster parents, or anyone back home in the marketplace… they'll find out, and then – then – what if they kill me, Laela? What if they find out, and then… they'd cut my head off, just like they did to my parents, oh gods…'_

'_No!'_ said Laela. _'Stop it, Galbatorix, you're being hysterical. They won't find out.'_

'_But-,'_

'_They won't,'_ said Laela. _'And you know why they won't? Because it would never, ever occur to them that one of their own could be a half-breed, living right under their noses. It just couldn't happen. They'd never consider it in a million years. They're so secure in their power – you've seen what they're like by now. How they treat their own. You're one of them, Galbatorix. One of the ruling elite. No-one would question you. No-one ever questions Vrael, do they? Everyone knows about him and Saraswati, but nobody would even think of saying anything.'_

'_But he's Vrael, and I'm just-,'_

'_Just Vrael's prize student, said to be the most gifted and powerful young rider to come along in a century. Open your eyes, Galbatorix. Even the other riders respect you. You might not be an elder, but you beat Vrael in combat. People won't forget that, and they won't have forgotten what you did in Ellesméra, either. Nobody would dream of snooping around after you. Even if someone who knew you from Teirm came forward and said you were a half-breed, nobody would listen. You're untouchable.'_

Galbatorix started to calm down. He remembered the day when he had tried to speak with Menulis. He'd never so much as set foot inside the castle; as far as Menulis was concerned, he hadn't existed. Laela was right. Nobody talked to the riders unless the riders spoke to them first. Who would dare to interfere with one, even one who had only just finished his training?

'_You're right,'_ he said at length. _'As always.'_

'_Good,'_ said Laela. _'Now put it out of your mind. You've got your whole life ahead of you, and you won't achieve anything by brooding over people who died a long time ago.'_

Galbatorix was silent for a long time. _'You know what?'_ he said eventually. _'When I first set out to become a rider, I did it because I wanted to change things. I thought if I had the power of a rider, I could make the world a better place. Stop things like what happened to me from happening to anyone else. And I forgot all about it. Gods, I'm so pathetic. I was so caught up with gloating over my own cleverness that I forgot the whole reason why I became a rider in the first place.'_

'_Go easy on yourself,'_ Laela advised. _'It's still very early days, Galbatorix. You've only just finished your training, for the sky's sake. It doesn't matter that you forgot – you haven't had any chance to do anything about it yet. Wait a while. You'll be given some responsibilities soon. They'll get you to supervise something… take charge somewhere… and as soon as that happens, you can start changing things.'_

'_Yeah… I suppose so.'_

Night had fallen by now, and overhead the stars were beginning to show. _'Should we stop for the night?'_ Laela enquired. _'I can keep going easily, but…'_

'_I can sleep in the saddle. Stop if you want to, but I'm fine.'_

'_We'll fly on for a while, then,'_ said Laela.

And for the next few hours, they did. A silvery crescent moon rose over the darkened land, its light shining on Laela's scales. After a while, Galbatorix dozed. Laela flew carefully, to avoid waking him up, keeping her wings rigid and slowing her flight into a gentle glide.

By dawn, she was still flying. Galbatorix woke up feeling stiff and cold. He stretched and yawned. _'Have you been flying all night?'_

'_Yes.' _They were flying over farmland by now, and the sky was icy blue. Laela was still going strong, but a little wearily.

'_You didn't have to do that.'_

'_I'm fine,'_ said Laela. _'And look!'_

Up ahead, where the land became more hilly, a dark mountain with three peaks loomed.

'_Helgrind.'_

'_And the city's behind that,'_ said Laela. _'They'll be surprised to see us so early.'_

She flew on a little faster, and within an hour the city was in sight. It was larger than Galbatorix had expected, built in the valley by the mountain and surrounded by stone walls. In the centre was the castle which belonged to the local lord. Galbatorix had heard about him – Lord Ranech Aisling of the Dras-Leona Aislings, who had only just been given the governorship of the city following the death of his father. The Aislings were an extremely rich and powerful old family, but even Lord Aisling had to answer to the riders.

There was a single and extremely wide tower at the centre of the castle, its top flat and so big a house could have fitted on it. Laela landed there, which was exactly what it had been built for, and sagged gratefully onto her stomach. Galbatorix undid the leg straps and slid off her back. His legs were stiff, and he fell awkwardly onto his backside.

A trapdoor set into the roof to his left opened. He got up hastily and straightened his clothing, as a finely-dressed middle-aged man emerged into the open air.

The man glanced warily at Laela, and then bowed low to Galbatorix. 'Greetings, Shur'tugal,' he said in a deep voice. 'I… I'm terribly sorry, but we didn't expect you to come so early.'

Over the last year, he'd been used to having non-riders defer to him, but this reception still took Galbatorix by surprise. 'Uh… I'm sorry,' he said. 'We flew through the night.'

'I am flattered that you went to the trouble, my Lord,' the man said unctuously. 'If I may introduce myself… I am Lord Ranech Aisling, of Dras-Leona.'

Galbatorix inclined his head politely. 'I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Arren Cardockson, and this is Laela.'

Laela brought her head around to look at Lord Aisling, who made a nervous motion as if he wanted to run away. He glanced quickly at Galbatorix. 'I'm sorry, my Lord. I've… never been this close to a dragon before.'

'I'm sure Laela understands,' said Galbatorix.

Laela yawned widely, exposing rows of pure white, serrated fangs. Lord Aisling yelped and ducked.

'Calm down,' said Galbatorix, forcing himself not to laugh. 'She's a little tired.'

'Of course, my Lord,' said Lord Aisling, making an attempt to recover his dignity which didn't work very well. 'Would you care to enter the castle? I have had our finest guest room prepared for you. I would be honoured if you would join me for lunch after you have rested.'

Galbatorix pulled himself together. 'Thankyou, Lord Aisling. Let me just get my bags…' He began to detach them from Laela's saddle.

Lord Aisling looked mortified. 'Please, my Lord, allow us to help you…'

A pair of servants emerged from the still-open trap-door, as if summoned by magic. Galbatorix stood aside and let them take charge of his luggage. They carried it away into the tower.

'They'll take it to your room, Lord,' said Lord Aisling. 'I will have meat brought up for your dragon.'

'_Tell him to make sure it's _good_ meat,'_ Laela put in.

'She said she's very grateful,' said Galbatorix.

'_Liar.'_

Aisling bowed again. 'My home is yours, Shur'tugal. If you would care to follow me, I will show you to your quarters.'

Galbatorix patted Laela's neck. _'See you later, okay?'_

'_Be sure to let me know how long you manage to put up with this idiot,'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix stifled a grin. _'All right.'_

He followed Aisling through the trapdoor and down into the castle.

After a few hours of sleep in his quarters, which were the richest he'd ever been in, Galbatorix donned the formal outfit he'd brought with him and allowed a servant to escort him to the banqueting hall.

He was astonished by what he found there.

The banqueting hall was a long, high-ceilinged affair, its roof painted with an elegant fresco of dragons in flight. A huge table, carved from oak, dominated the space. It was laden with fine dishes, and around it sat half a dozen richly-clad men and women. When Galbatorix entered they all stood up, and bowed to him. Lord Aisling was there, and he indicated the large chair at the head of the table, saying; 'Please be seated, my Lord.'

Galbatorix sat, noticing that the large silver salt dish was right in front of him. He glanced around at the assembled nobles. They were all of the highest birth and the greatest influence, every single one born into wealth and status. But he, a mere eighteen years old, born not only as a commoner but as a bastard as well, was at the head of the table, with the salt dish in front of him – both clear signs that he, and not they, was the most respected person there.

He did his best to look dignified, and waited patiently while Aisling introduced him to the other nobles. They gave their own names and titles, which were many and long, and though he didn't know much about the nobility it all sounded very impressive. Thereafter he had to sit politely and listen to them talk about their family histories, which they seemed to think would impress him. Lineage, money, political clout… it went on and on and on. He tried to look interested.

The food was more satisfactory than the conversation. He was very pleased to see that the main dish was a haunch of roast boar, and when the servants came to fill his plate for him he made sure they gave him a generous portion of the rich, steaming meat. He ate heartily and listened to Lord Aisling drone on about his ancestor, Aisling of Dras-Leona, who had been made a knight by King Palencar.

'Blood always tells,' he finished proudly. 'No matter what happens in this uncertain world, we can always rely upon the deeds of our proud forebears. My Lord,' he added unexpectedly, turning to Galbatorix. 'I have lectured you long enough about my own family. Would you favour us by speaking of your own birth and background? Where were you born?'

'Oh…' Galbatorix took a drink of wine to buy himself some time. 'Well, I was born in Teirm.'

'Ah, Teirm!' said Aisling. 'A fine old city. I spent part of my boyhood there. Who were your parents, may I ask? Where were you brought up?'

Galbatorix felt himself starting to go hot with embarrassment. 'Uh…' he coughed. 'I… unfortunately, my Lord, my lineage is nothing to boast about. My parents were leatherworkers. The – the boots I'm wearing right now, I made them myself.' He almost lifted a foot to show them, but restrained himself as his words replayed themselves in his head. He groaned internally and stared at the tabletop.

Lord Aisling coughed. 'There is no need to be embarrassed, my Lord,' he said. 'How one is born is nothing beside what one does in life. Is that not so?' he glanced around at his fellow nobles for support, and got a hasty chorus of agreement.

It did absolutely nothing to make Galbatorix feel less of an idiot. In fact it made it worse. He sought desperately for inspiration. 'I'm afraid I haven't had much opportunity to spend time among such fine people as yourselves,' he said. 'Forgive me if I've said or done anything improper.'

'Oh, no my Lord, you've done nothing of the kind,' said Aisling. 'Don't trouble yourself; I'm – we're all very flattered and honoured to have you here.'

'Indeed,' said the silk-and-pearls wearing lady sitting next to him.

There was an awkward silence. Galbatorix sought desperately for something to say, and at long last it came to him. 'The most prominent noble family I heard of in Teirm was the House of Taranis,' he said. 'I remember seeing the old family home one day, up near the castle. Do you know anything about them?'

'Ah,' said Aisling. 'The Ancient House of Taranis. A very great family. One of the greatest, in fact, although now sadly defunct.'

'What happened to them?' Galbatorix asked.

'Oh,' said Aisling. 'Well, the line ended, you see. A terrible loss to us all. There was a ghastly scandal… would you suffer me to tell you the story?'

'Go ahead,' said Galbatorix.

'Well, the House of Taranis began with Taranis himself, as I'm sure you already know, my Lord,' said Aisling. 'He was the most prominent human warrior of his time, and served under King Paelis, who was an ancestor to King Palencar. This was over a thousand years ago, during the elf and dragon war and before the creation of the riders. In fact Taranis himself is said to have been a rider. He led an army down the coast from King Paelis' capital, and razed several cities to the ground during the great rebellion of the day – he won many great victories in Paelis' name, before he was defeated by an alliance between the rebels and the elves. Now here is the most fascinating thing about this story – the elves in question were under the leadership of Eragon himself. Yes, the first rider. He and Taranis fought in single combat, or so legend says, and Taranis was killed. However, he left a great legacy behind. His daughter married the son of King Paelis and eventually became Queen, although since she never gave birth to a son her husband was succeeded by his nephew. But her daughters married into other noble houses, and the Ancient House of Taranis was created when her granddaughter married her cousin, Taranis the Second. That was when the surname, Taranisäii, was created, or so the records say. The line carried on in the city of Teirm… many of the greatest warriors in history came from the House of Taranis, although sadly none ever became dragon riders. Some believe the elves still distrust them and would not let any of them go to Ellesméra.'

Galbatorix listened closely. So this was his true family history. He tried to imagine what his great ancestor might have looked like, but for some reason the picture of Taranis in his head looked like a black-haired Vrael.

'But the line died out,' he said, when Aisling paused to take a drink.

'Yes, my Lord,' said Aisling, putting down his goblet. 'And a very sad thing it was. The last Lord and Lady Taranisäii only produced one child – a daughter.'

'Ingë Taranisäii,' Galbatorix muttered.

'I beg your pardon, my Lord?'

'Her name was Ingë Taranisäii,' Galbatorix said more loudly. 'Wasn't it?'

'Indeed it was,' said Aisling. 'I knew her quite well in my youth. In fact, I was going to be married to her.'

Galbatorix raised his eyebrows.

'Oh yes!' said Aisling. 'It would have been a most advantageous marriage, had it ever taken place. We had been promised to each other from birth, as it happens, and our union would have strengthened the ties between Teirm and Dras-Leona most excellently. Unfortunately, however, it never came to pass.'

'What did she look like?' Galbatorix asked.

Aisling paused. 'Very beautiful,' he said at length. 'Very tall. Taller than I was, as a matter of fact. Green eyes, and a fine head of curly hair the colour of chestnuts…' his voice trailed off, and his eyes became distant, a little wistful.

Galbatorix felt a terrible sadness bite into him. Without thinking, he touched his own hair. Tall with curly hair, just like him…

'She was a very intelligent young woman,' Aisling continued. 'But wilful, very wilful. And headstrong. Far too much for her station in life. Spirited, people called her. I used to hear shocking stories about her. Sneaking out of her room to learn swordplay in the middle of the night, defying her father, speaking out of turn…' he shook his head sadly, as if he were talking about a child. 'In the end,' he said, 'She brought shame and destruction on her entire house.'

Galbatorix forced himself to ask the question. 'How?'

'She…' Aisling hesitated, glancing around as if he was afraid someone might object to what he was about to say. 'She committed obscenity,' he said at last, in a low voice. 'I heard the story from some friends of mine who were in Teirm at the time… my Lord, I'm not sure if this is appropriate conversation for mealtime.'

Galbatorix fixed him with a cold, commanding stare. 'Go on, Lord Aisling.'

'Very well,' Aisling said rather stiffly. 'But kindly forgive me if it offends you, Lord Arren. Lady Ingë had bought herself a personal slave from an auction – the riders had brought a number of prisoners from a recent conquest and were keen to be rid of them. Many people protested when she went to the slave auction – it was no place for a lady, but she would not heed them. While she was there, she came across a male slave who somehow appealed to her, and she bought him on the spot and brought him back to her home, over the protests of her family. I do not know what the slave's name was, but he was… not human. He was an elf. An accursed dark elf. I'm afraid I know very little about that race, but… in any case, Ingë took this elf to her home, and proceeded to horrify everybody by giving him fine clothes and food and speaking to him as if he were her equal – her parents thought she had lost her mind and forced him to go to work in distant parts of the house, where she would not encounter him. He was with them for a year before they noticed Ingë was behaving strangely. And then, one day, she seemed to become ill. Healers were sent for, and when they examined her… they found that she was pregnant.'

There was a muttering from the other nobles.

'Indeed,' said Aisling. 'I'm sure you can imagine their reaction, my Lord. She was pregnant out of wedlock, and no matter what they tried her parents could not make her tell them who the father was. They tried to make her terminate her pregnancy lest anyone else find out, but she refused. In the end, they let her go free and had her followed in the hopes that she would lead them to her lover. Which, in the end, she did.'

'It was the slave,' said Galbatorix.

Aisling nodded. 'The scandal… when the news got out, which it eventually did, it shocked the city. She had not only conceived out of wedlock, but had done so with…' He broke off, visibly distressed.

'She was carrying a half-breed,' said Galbatorix, his eyes as cold as death.

'Yes,' said Aisling, not seeming to notice. 'After that, there was no choice but to let the authorities take her, which they did. She was brought to trial for violating the laws of obscenity, along with her lover, and both of them were sentenced to death. And so ended the line of the Ancient House of Taranis. An ignominious end to a glorious bloodline.'

There was a muttering and shaking of heads from the party.

'Did you ever hear of what became of the child?' one lord enquired.

'Hm?' said Aisling. 'Oh, the child. No. I daresay the creature died in the womb or was put down after it was born. Is there something the matter, my Lord Arren?'

Galbatorix loosened his grip on his goblet of wine with some effort. 'No, my Lord, I'm… fine. Just a little tired. Is there a library anywhere in the castle?'

'Yes, Lord,' said Aisling. 'If you would like to see it, I'm sure one of the servants could show you the way.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'I think I'll be off, Lord Aisling. Thankyou for your hospitality.'

Aisling half-rose as well, saying; 'As you wish, my Lord, but if you would care to stay there is still another course to go…'

'No thankyou,' Galbatorix said in his coldest voice. 'I will see you again tonight and you can give me the information about the Ra'zac I came to deal with. I'll begin work tomorrow, and then I'll be on my way.'

Aisling sat down again, looking rather crestfallen. 'Very well, my Lord. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay here.'

Galbatorix left the hall without another word.

There was a servant in the corridor outside, busily polishing the brass fittings of a wall-lamp. Galbatorix coughed to get his attention.

'What do you want, boy?' the servant asked, half-turning with an irritable expression.

'Show me the way to the library,' said Galbatorix.

'Ask someone else to do it,' said the servant. 'I'm busy.'

Without a word, Galbatorix held up his right hand, palm-forward. The servant took one look at the gedwëy ignaesia and went white. 'Oh! My Lord, I am – please forgive me, I didn't realise-,'

'Just show me the way to the library, please.'

'At once, my Lord.'

As he walked off, following the servant, Galbatorix could still see the red-faced, pudgy visage of Lord Aisling. _That could have been my father_. He realised his fists were clenched. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down, but the words were swimming around in his head and would not leave him alone. Ingë Taranisäii, his mother…

_I know now,_ he thought. _I know… my true name isn't Arren Cardockson, and it isn't Fárbjóđr. I'm… my name is Galbatorix Taranisäii. The House of Taranis isn't dead. It's all in me. Galbatorix Taranisäii, the last of his line. And none of them will ever know it._

They reached a pair of double doors. His guide opened them, saying; 'The library lies beyond, my Lord.'

Galbatorix entered, ignoring him.

The library wasn't as big as the one in Ilirea, but it was still impressive. There was no-one else in there, but the space was well-lit by a number of lanterns hanging from elaborate frames on the walls. Between the lanterns were the bookshelves, each one taller than his head, but not tall enough to require a ladder. Galbatorix began to browse through their contents. As he'd expected, most of the books in there were concerned with the various noble houses. He searched through them until he found one about the House of Taranis, and carried it to one of the tables provided, where he flicked through it.

It was an uninteresting read, but beautifully illustrated. On the title page was an ornate drawing of a coat of arms: two swords crossed behind a shield held up by a pair of dragons. On the shield was a strange triple-spiral design. He traced it with his fingers, wondering what it meant.

The book contained a chapter which explained the heraldry of the House of Taranis, and the significance of each of its elements. The two dragons were for Taranis' supposed status as a rider, as well as a sign of the family's allegiance to the riders, while the two swords signified warriorship. The triple spiral had supposedly been engraved on the first Taranis' sword, which had been passed down through his family line and eventually buried with its last owner. The book claimed that the three spirals symbolised three powers coming together, which seemed a little nonsensical to him, but he decided he liked it. It had an elegant, ancient look about it which he found appealing. The symbol of the House of Taranis, and therefore his symbol as well. He copied it onto a piece of scrap paper, and pocketed it.

Finally, he closed the book and put it aside. Once he might have been prepared to follow Laela's advice and simply put the issue of his parentage behind him, but not now. He tried to make himself calm down, and told himself repeatedly that it was all in the past, but he couldn't beat down his rage over what Aisling had said. The man had made his mother sound like a stupid little girl who had died because of her own stupidity, and what he had said about her child… about Galbatorix himself…

_Half-breed…_

The words echoed through his head, a sneering curse. _Bastard half-breed._

Galbatorix's fists clenched. _I daresay the creature died in the womb or was put down after it was born… she conceived out of wedlock, with a –_

'My Lord!'

Galbatorix looked around sharply. A servant was standing in the doorway, panting. The man came forward toward the table, and bowed low. 'My Lord,' he said again. 'I am most terribly sorry for disturbing you, but-,'

'Out with it,' Galbatorix snapped. His voice was harsh and sharp, like a whip. He'd never heard it sound like that before.

'It's the Ra'zac, my Lord,' the servant said at once. 'It's been sighted. Just outside the city walls on the Eastern side, nearest to the mountain. We just got word – I came to find you as fast as I could.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'Tell me everything.'


	13. The Diamond of Helgrind

Chapter Thirteen

The Diamond of Helgrind

Outside the walls of the city, there was forest. It spread down from the land surrounding the triple peaks of Helgrind, the sacred mountain; mostly fir-trees and other conifers. Although the people of Dras-Leona were in the habit of taking wood from the forest for fires and building, they had not managed to thin it too much. Empty grassland lay outside the city walls, and beyond that the forest remained; a dark, bristling mass, circled by flocks of croaking crows. Once the Dras-Leoneans had left their city from time to time to walk in the forest; to hunt for small game or gather firewood, or simply enjoy being away from the noise and dirt of the city.

But now that had changed. Now the forest had become a menace. Now a pall of fear lay over it, stifling the birdsong. Now people only ventured into the forest when they had no other choice. It was the dead of winter, and the air was icy cold; the Dras-Leoneans desperately needed firewood to warm their homes, and the forest was the only place to find it. Forced to go into a place that was no longer safe, they would band together in groups, and carry weapons and burning torches. The governor sent troops with them for protection, and most of them came back.

But not all. In spite of all their precautions, the danger could not be averted, only avoided. And from time to time some poor fool, some unfortunate soul, would find himself in the forest, separated from his companions, lost, perhaps, or brave and foolish enough to go alone. And, inevitably, those people were claimed by the menace that lurked in the forest, dragged to their deaths by serrated black claws.

In the cold light of the afternoon, a dark shape crept among the trees. It looked vaguely human; hunched and ragged, with a great hump on its back, and its slow, shuffling gait meant that, from a distance, it could easily be mistaken for an elderly cripple – someone harmless. But the disguise was inadequate. Anyone who ventured closer would quickly realise the truth, but by that time they would already be dead.

The creature moved quietly, low, hissing breaths issuing from under its hood. It was frightened. It had ventured too close to the edge of the forest, and the humans on the walls had spotted it. Soon there would be soldiers everywhere, hunting for it, and even if it managed to avoid these there would be no food for it today. All the prey-humans would have run back to their city by now. Tonight it would go hungry.

The Ra'zac felt a terrible pain gnawing at its insides, like a worm. It had not eaten for days, and was fast becoming desperate. If it did not eat soon, it would die. The Ra'zac was an unintelligent creature. It had little comprehension of abstract thought processes or human emotion. Its drives were simple, basic and primal. It did not understand the concept of planning; its entire life was lived in an unending moment, and its only goal was to survive from moment to moment, never thinking beyond a few hours into the future. It wanted food. Sweet human flesh, that would nourish it. It needed to eat well over the next few weeks; if it did not, it would fail and then everything would be lost.

But, as the Ra'zac shuffled away back toward the dark heart of the forest, it picked up a scent. It sniffed, lifting its beak to catch the icy breeze.

The scent was there. It filled the Ra'zac's nostrils and filled its mouth with a wonderful, aching tang. Human flesh…

The Ra'zac sped up. Its shuffling gait disappeared, gradually melding into a light and deceptively fast prowling stride. Now it was on the hunt.

It ran on, following the tantalising scent with all the dogged certainty of a creature born to hunt. The breeze, with its delicious scent of food, led it straight to the edge of a clearing, and there it paused, its multi-faceted eyes staring through the branches at its oblivious prey. The Ra'zac hissed softly. It was there. Right there. A human. Unarmed, and alone. It was small, but the Ra'zac could tell from its scent that it was young, and it clicked its beak in anticipation. Young humans were the best. Their meat was richer and fattier, much more nourishing than that of an older one, and the bones were softer. Perfect.

The Ra'zac was too hungry to wait. It stalked its prey as it wandered through the trees, watching its every move, closer and closer in the gathering gloom. The human stumbled on, oblivious, and the Ra'zac finally reached striking distance. It lowered itself on its powerful legs, preparing to spring.

And then –

Galbatorix turned, simultaneously pulling his sword from under his cloak. The blade flashed brightly, and the ragged monster, taken by surprise, screamed. Galbatorix launched himself at it, his sword moving with lightning speed, slashing through cloth and claw and into the thick carapace beyond.

The Ra'zac had no chance. It screeched again, this time in pain, and fell backward onto the snow, its robe falling away to reveal the horror beneath.

The fight was over almost before it had begun, and Galbatorix stood over his defeated enemy, holding his sword at what he thought was its throat. He was breathing heavily, but he managed to grin. 'Is that all you've got?' he asked. 'Was that _it?_ I was hoping for more of a challenge.'

The Ra'zac's insect-like legs twitched feebly, its beak clicking. A horrible, thick, greenish fluid was oozing from several deep gashes in its carapace, and the creature made an attempt to get away. But Galbatorix jammed the point of his sword under its shell and into the vulnerable flesh beneath, making it screech again and stop moving lest he drive the blade in further and kill it.

There was a rush of air from overhead, and Laela came down to land a short way behind her rider. She stepped forward to look at the defeated Ra'zac, and shuddered. _'It's even more horrible than the picture.'_

Galbatorix watched the Ra'zac, his disgust mingled with curiosity. He had never seen anything like this creature before. It looked like a giant insect, its body covered by a hard carapace with a leathery texture. Its limbs were many-jointed and equipped with claws rather than hands, and its face was dominated by a huge serrated beak and a pair of shining, multi-faceted insect eyes. It was impossible to tell what it was looking at.

The Ra'zac suddenly relaxed, lowering its limbs and letting its head loll back onto the snow. _'Plssss.'_

Galbatorix blinked and withdrew his sword slightly. 'What?'

'_Kill it!'_ Laela urged. _'Now! What are you waiting for?'_

The Ra'zac's shiny black beak clicked. _'Pleessss…'_ it said.

'_Kill it!'_ Laela said again.

Galbatorix didn't move. _'Laela… did you hear that?'_

'_Hear what?'_ said Laela. _'Just kill it, will you? Put it out of its misery!'_

'_No,'_ said Galbatorix. _'I heard… Laela, it spoke.'_

'_Don't be silly. Ra'zac don't speak.'_

'Did you speak?' said Galbatorix, addressing the Ra'zac now. 'Are you trying to say something to me?'

The Ra'zac raised its head slightly. 'Pleasssse,' it said.

Please! That was what it was trying to say! 'Please what?' said Galbatorix.

The Ra'zac wrapped its claws around the swordblade, trying feebly to push it away. 'Pleaasse,' it said again. 'Pleaassse. Don't kill me.'

Galbatorix was astounded. 'You _speak?'_

'Yessss. I sssspeak, human. Pleasssse. Do not… pleassse do not kill me.'

'Why not?' Galbatorix demanded. 'You kill people! You _eat_ them!'

'I mussssst eat,' the Ra'zac hissed. 'I mussst survive.'

Galbatorix hesitated. 'I… you don't have to eat humans, do you?'

'Humanssss… the only flesssssh I can eat,' said the Ra'zac. 'I musssst eat. I mussst live.'

'I was sent to kill you,' said Galbatorix, the words feeling somehow weak as he said them.

'Pleassse,' said the Ra'zac. 'Let me go. Let me live. I want to live. Pleasssse. I don't want to die.'

'_For the love of gods, Galbatorix, kill it!'_ Laela almost shouted. _'What are you doing? Why are you talking to it? It's evil!'_

'I mussst live,' said the Ra'zac. 'I mussst… I am…'

'You're what?' said Galbatorix. 'What are you?'

'I am the lasssst,' the Ra'zac whispered. 'The lasssst of my kind. The only one left. My kind… the riderssss… all gone now… I musssst live. Musssst eat and mussst live. Live for my…'

Galbatorix stared at the creature, all his certainty gone. 'You're pregnant, aren't you?' he said. 'You're going to lay eggs, aren't you?'

'Yesss,' said the Ra'zac. 'I musssst live for my eggsss. Pleassse…'

'_Kill it!'_ said Laela. _'Just kill it! Now!'_

Galbatorix hesitated a moment. Then he withdrew his sword. The Ra'zac picked itself up but made no move to run. It stood there, staring at him through its metallic eyes.

'_Galbatorix, what are you doing?'_ Laela exclaimed. _'Are you mad?'_

'_No,'_ said Galbatorix. He sheathed his sword and faced the cringing Ra'zac, his face and voice steady. _'No, Laela,'_ he said. _'I can't do this. I can't kill it.'_

'_Why not?'_

'_You heard it,'_ said Galbatorix. _'It's the last of its kind. The last Ra'zac left. If I kill it, I'll have destroyed their entire race.'_

'_Galbatorix, they're monsters! They don't deserve to survive.'_

'_Like the dark elves?'_ said Galbatorix. _'Like the red dwarves? Like the plains dragons or the werewolves or the shapeshifters? Like _them?_'_

'_That's different,'_ said Laela.

'No it isn't,' said Galbatorix, this time out loud. 'We aren't gods, Laela. We weren't put on this earth to say who will live and who will die. We have no right to do this. If I kill this Ra'zac, I'll be no better than any of the other riders. I'll have wiped out an entire race… just because I didn't like them.'

'_But they _eat_ people!'_

'Everything needs to eat,' said Galbatorix. 'You eat deer.'

'_Deer aren't people!'_

'Even so,' said Galbatorix. 'I don't know what I should do. But I do know that killing it would be wrong.'

'_Galbatorix, no! You're being ridiculous! If you let it go…'_

'Look at it, Laela,' said Galbatorix. '_Look_ at it and tell me what you see.'

Laela looked. _'I see a monster. I see a vile creature that should not be allowed to live.'_

'Like me?' said Galbatorix. 'Like a half-breed? Like a dark elf? No. What I see is someone who is the last member of her race… all alone, forced to live like this, hated by everyone simply for being born… no. I can't kill her.' He faced the Ra'zac, and in that moment something about him changed. It was something subtle, something invisible, but something that began to define him from that moment and would continue to do so for the rest of his life. 'Go,' he told the creature. 'Leave here. Find a new place to live, and lay your eggs. Keep them safe. Don't let your race die. Don't be the last of your kind.'

The Ra'zac did not move.

'Do you understand me?' said Galbatorix. 'Go. I'm letting you go.'

The Ra'zac took a step closer to him. He withdrew instinctively, but it made no move to attack him. It leant forward toward him, and sniffed at him, its foul breath touching his face like the caress of a disease. He fought down his urge to move away, and the Ra'zac scented him carefully, not touching him. Finally it withdrew and said; 'Your name. Human. Tell me your name.'

'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii,' said Galbatorix.

'I ssshall remember your name, and your sssscent,' said the Ra'zac. 'I ssshall remember what you did. I sshall not forget, and I sssshall tell my hatchlingsss.'

'I'm sorry I hurt you,' said Galbatorix. 'Here…' he held out a hand over the creature's injuries. 'Waíse heill.'

The Ra'zac sighed gently as its wounds healed. 'I ssshall leave here,' it said. 'But later… if you need me, I sssshall help you. But now there issss one thing I can do for you.'

'Yes?'

The Ra'zac stretched out a long foreclaw, pointing at the central of the three peaks that loomed overhead. 'There. On that peak. There issss a cave there. The humansss from the city do not go there. I have ssseen… find thisss cave. There issss a great treassssure there. Take it assss a gift.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I will. Thankyou.'

The Ra'zac hissed softly, then turned and loped away through the trees, heading away from Dras-Leona's walls. In moments it had disappeared into the darkness, and Galbatorix could feel Laela's anger mounting.

'_You realise you just condemned more people to be killed and eaten by that thing.'_

'_Laela, dragons eat people too. No-one except a rider would dare go into the Spine. Did you know that?'_

Laela shifted uneasily. _'Yes.'_

'_Are we going to wipe them out too, then?'_

'_It's not the same.'_

'_Explain how it isn't,'_ said Galbatorix.

Laela said nothing.

Galbatorix sighed. _'I don't know how I'll explain this to Vrael. I'll have to lie. And hope he doesn't ask me to say it in the ancient language.'_

'_And what if I decide to tell him the truth?'_

An unpleasant queasy feeling arose in Galbatorix's stomach. _'You wouldn't!'_

Laela shifted slightly, scuffing up the snow with her talons. _'I could, but I won't. I count myself as loyal to you before that old bastard Vrael. Even if you _are_ out of your mind.'_

'_So you'll support my story?'_

Laela sighed. _'I suppose I'll have to. If I didn't I'd be in trouble too for not doing anything to stop you.'_

'_Thanks, Laela.'_

'_Don't mention it. Now, what are we going to do?'_

'_Go and look for this treasure the Ra'zac told us about,'_ said Galbatorix.

'_You really think it exists?'_ said Laela.

'_Why shouldn't it? We can at least look. It'd be better than coming back empty-handed.'_

Laela nodded. _'I can't see the harm in it… climb on, then.'_

Galbatorix bent and picked up something from the snow. It was a Ra'zac claw, severed during the fight. He put it into his pocket, and climbed into Laela's saddle. Once he was secure, the white dragon took off with a quick flick of her wings, flying up and over the forest.

The mountain of Helgrind looked big and menacing in the darkness, outlined by the light of the setting sun. Laela made straight for the central peak and landed about halfway up. Galbatorix slid down out of the saddle, gathering his cloak around him. It was freezing cold this high up. He was standing on a steep rocky slope among patches of snow and tufts of tough alpine grasses, and there was no sign of a cave anywhere. Laela perched beside him, digging her claws deep into the rock to anchor herself. _'Don't look down,'_ she advised.

Almost instantly, Galbatorix looked down. He cringed and turned away, grabbing at a shelf of rock by his head to steady himself. The mountain sloped almost straight downward. One slip, one false move, and he would go sliding to his death.

For the second time in his life, a horrible feeling of vertigo took hold of him. He started to feel dizzy and frightened. His grip on the stone tightened until his knuckles went white. He felt nauseous again, but though he didn't throw up he quickly found himself rooted to the spot, unwilling to move in any direction.

Laela didn't waste time asking questions. Without a word she stretched her snout out toward him and gently took him in her jaws, lifting him away from the mountainside. He hung passively from her grip, and the white dragon began to make her way around the mountain, her head held high. She was in her element in a high place like this, and walked calmly and steadily, her claws gripping the rock and her tail held out rigidly for balance. Once she had reached the little hollow between the central peak and the one beside it, where the ground flattened out, she put him down.

Galbatorix breathed deeply, holding onto her snout. _'I don't know whether I should be grateful or embarrassed.'_

Laela shivered her wings. _'Be grateful. I wasn't going to let you risk walking that far. Not on a slope like that. Even I had trouble with it.'_

Galbatorix adjusted his clothing, and pulled a face when he discovered the large damp patch on his front. _'Yuck.'_

'_Just a bit of spit,'_ said Laela. _'It'll wash out, I'm sure. Now…'_ she looked around at the gloomy little valley they were now in. Two peaks loomed in front and behind them, and the valley itself had some sparse vegetation – a few stunted trees and some grass. Snow had built up in there, providing some stark patches of white amid the dank greenery. Galbatorix, his fear gone, wandered here and there looking for some sign of a cave. _'Nothing. Can you see anything, Laela?'_

'_We should look more closely,'_ said Laela. _'It could be buried under a snowdrift or something. Look among the rocks. We don't know how big the entrance is.'_

They spent the next few minutes searching the hollow, probing at the sides of both peaks in search of an opening. Night fell, and the air became steadily colder and colder. At first Galbatorix didn't notice it, but when he paused to rest, he suddenly found himself trembling. His fingers were going numb, and he clamped his hands into his armpits to try and warm them up. There was just enough light left for him to see his breath misting in front of his face. The snow had soaked into his boots, and his feet ached savagely. He forced himself to walk on, but as the cold bit right through his clothes he slowly realised that it was dangerous to stay out too long in this weather. If he stood still for too long, he would start to freeze to death. He hadn't found the Ra'zac's treasure yet, but he was feeling less interested in it by the minute and much more interested in the prospect of a fire and a warm bed.

He looked around at Laela, whose white scales were easily visible in the gloom. _'Laela, this is pointless. Let's go back.'_

Laela brought her head around to look at him. _'Why? Aren't you dying to find out what this treasure is?'_

'_I suppose so. But it's getting cold. I don't want to get sick.'_

Laela radiated surprise. _'Oh! I didn't realise… Galbatorix, I'm sorry… I don't feel the cold much, you see. Here, hold still.'_

He did so. Laela took in a deep breath, and seconds later a plume of silvery-white fire bloomed in the darkness. It melted away the snow and burned the trees, scorching the rocks all about and bringing light and heat into the hollow. Galbatorix kept as still as he could, and Laela directed her fire around him with a power and control that was astonishing. By the time she relaxed and the jet of fire vanished, the hollow was warm and steaming and he hadn't got so much as a blister. He shivered gratefully. _'That's much better. Thankyou, Laela.'_

Laela flicked her tail proudly. _'It was nothing-,'_ she stopped. _'Galbatorix, look at that!' _

There, on the mountainside amid a heap of fallen rocks, there was a dark hole. Galbatorix picked up a stick and muttered a few words over it. Almost instantly, flames sprang into life around the end, burning fiercely without consuming the wood. Holding the magical torch over his head, he shoved a few rocks out of the way and peered into the opening.

Beyond was a big, dark space. Faint echoes and the smell of leafmold came from within. He had found the cave.

'_Is that the cave?'_ Laela asked.

'_I think so. Wait here. I'll go in and have a look.'_

Without waiting for an answer, Galbatorix squeezed through the entrance. He straightened up once he was inside, and promptly banged his head on the roof.

'Damn!'

Rubbing the bruise, he held the torch out in front of him with his other hand to have a look around.

The cave was quite small. It only extended a couple of arm's lengths in front of him, and the roof got abruptly lower about halfway along. He would have to walk bent almost double to reach the back wall, but he couldn't see the point. There was nothing in the cave except rocks, dirt and rotting leaves.

'_Find anything?'_ said Laela.

'_No. There's nothing here. I suppose I'll have a look around on the floor, but I don't see how there could be anything there…'_

He crouched and began moving aside rocks and dirt, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. At the end of the cave there was a little heap of stones a little like a cairn, and he set about demolishing it, tossing the rocks aside one by one.

When he was at the very bottom of the pile, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat – something was glittering in the torchlight among the dullness of the rocks and the dirt all about. He worked more quickly, thrusting the rocks aside until he had uncovered the Ra'zac's treasure.

It took his breath away.

He lifted it into the light, ignoring the dirt packed under his fingernails.

It was a diamond. A huge, pure white diamond. The light glinted off its finely-cut facets in a hundred tiny rainbows, throwing little gleams of red and gold onto his face. It had been cut into a sort of flattened ball shape, and fitted perfectly into his palm. It was almost exactly the same size and shape as the gedwëy ignaesia on his hand, and he stared at it in wonder.

'_What is it?'_ said Laela, sensing what he was feeling. _'What have you found?'_

He sent her an image of it. _'It's a diamond!'_

Laela shared his astonishment. _'It's so big! Quick, bring it out and show me.'_

Galbatorix needed no further prompting. He shuffled awkwardly backward until he had room to turn around, then climbed out of the cave's entrance, thrusting his hand with the torch in it ahead of him to avoid burning his clothes. He rejoined Laela, and showed her the diamond. She peered at it, and he could feel her excitement. _'Give it to me!'_ she urged, making a grab for it. _'I want it!'_

Galbatorix moved his hand away. _'Why?'_ he asked, bewildered.

'_I want it,'_ Laela said again. _'It's so shiny…'_ her voice had gone all childish, even whiny.

Galbatorix started to laugh. _'Oh my gods… it's really true then, is it?'_

Laela tore her eyes away from the diamond with some effort. _'What?'_ she asked sulkily.

'_Dragons really do love shiny things.'_

'_Of course we do,'_ said Laela. She made another grab for the diamond.

Galbatorix dodged. _'Stop that. It's mine.'_

Laela growled. _'I just want to look at it again. Please?'_

Galbatorix relented. Laela stared at the diamond for some time, not moving at all. After a while, he realised she was making an odd little crooning noise in her throat.

'_Why can't I have it?'_ she asked plaintively. _'I mean, what are _you_ going to do with it?'_

Galbatorix hesitated. _'I'm not sure…'_ The cold had seeped back by now, and he shivered and put the gem in his pocket. _'We should head back now.'_

Laela sighed. _'Yes, they're probably wondering what's keeping us so long. Let's go.'_

Galbatorix tossed aside his torch, which promptly went out, and got into the saddle with the ease of long practise. Laela flew away, back toward the city, and it was during the journey that Galbatorix had a brainwave.

'_Laela, I just had a great idea.'_

'_Do tell.'_

'_I know what to do with the diamond. They're going to make my sword now, aren't they? Well, I'm going to send the diamond to Ellesméra and ask them to set it into the hilt.'_

'_That's a good idea,' _said Laela. _'That way you'll always have it with you. And your sword will be white, too. So the diamond will match. I wonder where the Ra'zac got it from?'_

'_Who knows? I'll have to ask it if we ever meet again.'_

'_I doubt it.'_

'_You never know,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Maybe one day we'll meet again, and maybe… well, maybe one day I'll be very glad I let it go. That's how it happens in the stories, anyway.'_

'_Yes, but this isn't a story.'_

'_Hmm. Oh, Laela?'_

'_Yes?'_ they were nearly back at the city by now.

'_I'm going to get a tattoo tomorrow. Just a small one.'_

'_What, one of those skin drawings? Why?'_

He shrugged mentally. _'I have a design in mind.'_


	14. Induction

Chapter Fourteen

Induction

Galbatorix's return to the castle was greeted with a great deal of excitement. Lord Aisling himself came to meet him, all pompous praise and unctuous flattery as usual.

But by this time Galbatorix had had more than enough of this kind of nonsense. He met the old lord's blather with an icy courtesy which quickly put a stop to it, and refused to attend the celebratory feast which was being prepared. He dodged the various nobles who wanted to congratulate him, and went straight to his room. After a plain meal which he ate up on the walls with Laela, he retired for the night, ignoring all protests from his host.

Next morning he rose at dawn and put on a set of his oldest and plainest clothes, along with a pair of fingerless leather gloves, and quietly left the castle for the city.

The streets were already bustling. Stalls and shops were open, and people were everywhere, buying and selling. The streets were thronged, and it was impossible to go anywhere without bumping into someone. Galbatorix strolled along, taking in the sights. Nobody gave him a second glance, although several of them were happy to elbow him out of the way and a drunken woman, hanging half out of a window, shouted some unintelligible obscenity at him.

To his surprise, he found he was enjoying it. Here, in the streets of Dras-Leona, dressed in his patched black tunic and his old trousers with the hole in the knee and the scuffed boots with the stitching coming undone in several places, he could fade into the background. He had left his sword back at the castle and carried nothing but a money pouch and a small dagger in his belt. There were no stares, no more 'my lords'… he was just another face in the crowd. And that meant he was free. Once he'd longed to be respected, but now he was away from the castle he realised just how stifling it had been. _This_ was where real life happened.

He realised he was humming. That was something he hadn't done in some time.

For the next few hours he was happy to wander through the stalls, looking at this and that and fending off people trying to sell him things. When he felt hungry he bought a pasty and a couple of apples, and ate them as he walked along, enjoying the sunshine and the anonymity in equal measures.

At one point, as he stopped to examine a rack of combs, he realised that someone was trying to steal his money-pouch. The thief was quick, but he was quicker, and as the man tried to run away Galbatorix knocked him unconscious with a sharp punch to the jaw. Several people yelled encouragement at him, but he walked off without a word, leaving the pickpocket lying in a crumpled heap.

Realising that the day was drawing on, he asked a couple of people where he could find a tattoo parlour. Having been given some directions, he found one on a street corner, tucked discreetly between a barber shop and a fruit seller. A large sign hung over the door, with the single word TATTOOs inscribed on it. Galbatorix entered.

Inside it was well-lit. A long bench lined one wall, and there was a cracked mirror resting in a corner. A hefty man was sitting at the bench, scowling in pain while the tattooist – who, to his surprise, was a young woman – inscribed a snake design on his shoulderblade. The woman was clad in black and looked very wild – there were tattoos all over her arms, and on her upper chest, above her bosom, which showed through her tunic. Her hair was pale blonde, nearly white, and both her ears were heavily laden with rings and studs.

She heard him enter. 'Be right with you,' she said without turning around. 'Take a seat, why don't you?'

Galbatorix sat at the end of the bench, and watched the tattooist at work. The device she was using looked like a giant metal pen with a kind of box just above the spot where she gripped it. A key protruded from the box, turning slowly, and the whole thing made a loud metallic clicking sound. At the other end, a small, sharp metal point moved rapidly up and down, stabbing right through the man's skin. There was an open pot of ink on the table in front of the bench, and from time to time the tattooist would pause to dip the needle in it and wind it up again with the key.

Once she had finished, she put down the device and handed a square of grubby cloth to her customer. 'Here,' she said. 'Use this to wipe it down. Don't get it wet, don't touch it and don't cover it up or the ink will leach out of it. Understood?'

The man stood up, retrieving his shirt from a hook on the wall. 'How much do I owe?'

'Twenty crowns,' said the woman.

The man muttered irritably over that, but handed over the money and left. Once he had gone, the woman began cleaning the needle. 'Now, what can I do for you?' she asked in a businesslike voice. 'Just looking? I do piercings and tattoos, custom designs are fine, but you pay on the spot. What's it going to be?'

Galbatorix stood up. 'I'd like a tattoo,' he said. 'I've got a design right here…' he fumbled in his pocket.

The tattooist waited patiently and took the piece of paper. She examined the design on it. 'Interesting. What's it from?'

'I made it up,' Galbatorix lied. 'Can you do it?'

'Easily. Where would you like it, how big, and what colour?'

Galbatorix paused. 'On my shoulder. In black.'

'Just plain black?'

'Yes. Not too big. I want it right here.' He touched his left shoulder to indicate the spot.

The tattooist nodded. 'All right. Take your shirt off and sit down. I'll just get the ink.'

Galbatorix stripped off his tunic and hung it on the wall, then sat down. He was feeling a little apprehensive. 'Will it hurt?' he asked.

The tattooist rolled her eyes and took the lid off a jar of black ink. Without saying anything, she dipped the needle and began to wind it up.

'Well? Will it?' Galbatorix persisted.

'I don't glorify that question with an answer any more,' the tattooist said, and set to work.

Galbatorix gritted his teeth. The needle passed in and out of his skin, again and again, inscribing a line of pain over his shoulder, up and around and down again as the tattooist began to draw the first of the three spirals.

It wasn't an excruciating pain. The gashes left by Ilia's talons had been much more painful. This was more… irritating than truly painful. It was a sharp, prickling sensation, a little like a series of insect bites. The only truly unpleasant part about it was that it just kept on going. He sat as still as he could and tried to think about something else.

In his head, Laela said; _'Ow! Eek. Argh. That prickles. What are you doing?'_

'_Getting my tattoo. Is it bothering you? I can block you out of my mind if you'd prefer.'_

'_I'm sure I'll be fine,'_ said Laela.

After about fifteen or twenty minutes, the tattooist finally put aside the needle and said; 'That's it. I'm done. D'you want to have a look at it in the mirror? _Don't_ touch it!'

Galbatorix withdrew his hand. 'Yes please.'

The tattooist went and fetched the mirror, and held it up so he could see. He turned sideways, pulling his hair away from his shoulder to get a clear view of the tattoo.

Three jet-black spirals were inscribed on his shoulder. It was about the size of his palm, and glistened with blood and excess ink.

'Once it's healed, it'll be much clearer,' said the tattooist. 'Here.' She gave him a piece of cloth. 'But be careful. It'll be tender for a week or so, but it shouldn't take long to heal. Don't get it wet, don't cover it up, try not to touch it.'

Galbatorix carefully dabbed at his stinging shoulder. 'Is it all right if I put some ointment on it?'

'Just as long as you don't apply it too thickly. The skin will heal faster if it's dry. That'll be fifteen crowns, by the way.'

Galbatorix stood up and picked up his shirt. He draped it over his arm and counted out the money. As he was handing it over, the tattooist reached out to touch the scars on his chest. 'What happened to you?'

Galbatorix paused. 'Oh, these? I was attacked by a dragon.'

The tattooist made an incredulous snorting sound. 'Pull the other one!'

Galbatorix pulled on his tunic, being careful not to bump the tattoo. 'Believe it,' he said.

'What are you, then, a rider?' said the tattooist, obviously mocking him.

Adrenaline was making him feel a little reckless. He pulled off his glove to reveal the gedwëy ignaesia, and held his hand over the tattoo. 'Waíse heill.'

The tattooist watched as the tattoo healed before her eyes. 'Oh my gods!' she exclaimed. 'You're a bloody rider! I just tattooed a _rider.'_

Galbatorix grinned. 'Don't tell anyone,' he said, and left the shop, humming a tune.

'I'm Allison,' the tattooist called after him. But he was already gone.

'So, how did your mission go?' Vrael fixed his erstwhile student with a commanding stare. 'Were you successful?'

'I was,' said Galbatorix.

'So I assume you found and killed the creature?' said Vrael.

'Yes, I-,'

Vrael waved him into silence. 'We will speak in the ancient language here, Arren. Only truth may be spoken in my city.'

Galbatorix's heart sank. 'As you wish,' he said, switching languages with ease. He reached into his pocket and brought out the Ra'zac claw. 'A trophy,' he said, hoping it would be enough.

Vrael took it. 'So you killed it?'

Galbatorix hesitated. This was it. If he tried to say something in the ancient language that was untrue, he would be silenced before the lie was out of his mouth. But in a wild instant he decided to try it anyway. 'The creature is dead,' he said.

It was as if time had stopped.

The words had come smoothly and easily. He had said them in the ancient language. He had done it. He had lied using the ancient language.

Vrael was looking at him suspiciously. 'And how did it go? Were you able to defeat it easily?'

'I was,' said Galbatorix, his mind reeling.

'Tell me how. How did you catch it?'

'I… I got word that it was lurking in the forest outside the city walls, looking for prey. I went out there, alone, with my sword hidden. I wandered around alone, pretended to be lost… it followed me in the hopes of killing me, and I caught it by surprise before it pounced. It… the creature didn't stand a chance, Lord Vrael.'

'So you brought back its claw as proof,' said Vrael. 'Why not its head?'

'The head was too big,' said Galbatorix. 'It would have been a nuisance to carry. A claw was easier.' The lies were coming more and more easily. There was nothing. No resistance. No effort. No struggle. He was disobeying one of the deepest laws of magic, and he didn't know how he was doing it.

Vrael seemed to relax in some way. 'Well done. I'm pleased with you. You succeeded in your mission quickly and efficiently, with the minimum of fuss, and you didn't waste time basking in glory, which I am honestly surprised by, given your propensity for showing off. Now, is there anything else to report?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Before the Ra'zac died, it told me something,' he said.

Vrael tensed slightly. 'Oh?'

'It hoped it could save its own hide by telling me the location of a treasure it had found. After it was dead I decided to have a look, and I found… this.' Galbatorix took the diamond from his pocket, and held it up.

Vrael started slightly. 'Where did… where did you find that?'

'Up on Helgrind,' said Galbatorix. 'There was a cave in the side of one of the three peaks, and it was buried inside.'

Vrael took it from him and examined it, turning it over in his long fingers. 'This is a real diamond,' he said. 'Who would have thought a foul creature such as a Ra'zac would possess it? You are fortunate, Arren. Your conquest won you a rich prize.'

Galbatorix took the diamond back. 'I wanted to send it to Ellesméra and ask them to set it into the hilt of my sword. Would that be possible?'

Vrael nodded. 'A good idea. It would make a splendid decoration for what will be a splendid weapon. But be careful not to lose it. This diamond is worth more than the wealth of three cities. I am going to visit Ellesméra in a few days. If you would like, I will take it with me to ensure it arrives safely.'

'Thankyou, my Lord Vrael. What shall I do until the Blood-Oath celebration?'

'Whatever you will,' said Vrael. 'Wander. Study. Learn. Contemplate. Prepare yourself. On the day of the Blood-Oath celebration you will be bound up in the great magic of the riders, and from that day forth you will be one of us. Forever.'

For some reason that made Galbatorix shiver slightly. 'Master Vrael?'

'Speak.'

'I've been wondering… I mean… is it possible to tell a lie in the ancient language?' the question came out in a rush. He shouldn't have asked it, but he couldn't help himself.

Vrael paused. 'No. It is impossible.'

'But is there some way to do it? Could someone use magic, or…?'

'No,' Vrael said again. 'The ancient language is inviolable. Nobody can tell an untruth with it. Not me, not you. No-one.'

'So there's never been anyone who could do it?' Galbatorix persisted.

'There was a race that is said to have been able to resist the power of the ancient language,' said Vrael. 'But that race is dead.'

'What race?' said Galbatorix. His heart was pounding.

'Dark elves,' said Vrael. 'They were liars and oathbreakers and that brought about their doom. Now, leave me.'

They were in Vrael's study; a simple, book-lined room lit by candles. As the old elf turned away to examine some papers on his desk, he did not see the sly gleam in Galbatorix's black eyes.

Galbatorix spent the next week or so in Ilirea doing what he had to do, which was nothing. He lazed around the city as and when he pleased, eating and drinking, reading books in the library or dozing in the sunshine up on one of the tower balconies. He spent time with Flell and rediscovered the initial lightness and joy that had been in their relationship before. At other times he practised archery and swordplay, and experimented with magic, or went flying with Laela.

It was on one of these flights that he told Laela about what had happened in Vrael's study. _'I can lie in the ancient language,'_ he said calmly. _'I lied to Vrael. He never suspected a thing.'_

Laela was stunned. _'But that's impossible! How did you do it?'_

'_It was easy. I just looked him in the eye and lied. There was no trick to it; the language just didn't stop me from lying. Look, I'll prove it to you.'_ He switched to the ancient language and said; _'My mother is the Queen of the Elves.' _Just as before, the lie took no effort to tell. _'You see?'_

'_But _how?'said Laela.

'_It's in my blood,'_ Galbatorix said triumphantly. _'The dark elves had the power to lie in the ancient language, and I inherited it. Isn't that amazing? Not even Vrael can do it, but I can.'_

Laela was thoughtful. _'You surprise me all the time, Galbatorix Taranisäii.'_

He grinned mentally at the addition of 'Taranisäii' to his name. _'I surprise myself too.'_

And then, at long last, it was time. The Blood-Oath celebration was on them, and Vrael sought Galbatorix out and told him it was time to set out for Ellesméra. 'Your sword has been forged,' the white-haired elf said. 'Tomorrow we shall leave. Now go and prepare.'

Which Galbatorix did, his heart fluttering with excitement. He packed a bag with clothes, including the ceremonial outfit he had worn to the last Blood-Oath celebration, and spent the rest of that day in a state of great agitation. All he could think of was his sword. Soon it would be in his hands… soon he would be a full rider.

On the following morning he saddled up Laela and was ready to go. Vrael, Flell and several other riders who were in Ilirea at the time were coming as well. Only those who had some very important reason to stay away were going to miss the celebrations.

It wasn't until they were actually in the air that Galbatorix remembered the last Blood-Oath celebration he had attended, and felt an unpleasant weight form in his chest. Would the elves remember him? Would they still be hostile, even after all this time?

He was unable to shake of his worry during the journey, but when he shared it with Laela she was surprisingly offhand about it. _'Forget the damned elves,'_ the white dragon sneered. _'You're above them; you're a fully-trained rider. They wouldn't dare throw anything at you now. You do realise that once you've been inducted you'll have the power to punish any one of them if you wanted to? Even the Queen will answer to you. Remember that.'_

It did a lot to calm him down.

And then, at long last, they were back in Ellesméra. Laela and the other dragons landed in the valley and were greeted by a throng of elves, including the Queen herself. It was very different from the last time he had arrived there; now, instead of entering the valley in a rattling old wagon, he flew in on dragonback. No longer a simple city boy, but a dragon rider before whom even the Queen of the elves bowed.

He dismounted easily, and was joined by Flell. She was clad in a fine blue tunic that matched her eyes, and her soft brown hair fluttered in the wind. She took his hand and smiled, blushing slightly at the sight of the cheering elves. 'Isn't it amazing?' she murmured. 'I feel like a Queen.'

'Don't be stupid, Flell,' said Galbatorix, giving her hand a squeeze. 'You're more than a Queen. You're a rider.'

Flell kissed him on the cheek. 'And you're better than a King.'

Islanzadí came forward to meet Vrael, and the two elves embraced affectionately, as was the elvish way. Islanzadí turned to address his fellow riders, her delicate face flushed from excitement. 'Welcome, welcome!' she exclaimed. 'Welcome, Shur'tugal. Welcome to Ellesméra, welcome to my home. It is a great honour to have you here. Allow me to offer you our hospitality during this happy time. Now, I have been told that one of you here is a new rider who is to be inducted at the ceremony… if he would step forward, I would be most pleased.'

Galbatorix came forward without hesitation. 'I am he, Your Majesty.'

Islanzadí eyed him for a moment, and then bowed low. 'Welcome, my Lord,' she said. 'I am honoured to have you here. Your name?'

'Arren Cardockson,' said Galbatorix. He disliked having to use what he considered to be a false name, but there was no real way of explaining that his true name was Galbatorix. Not when he had first introduced himself as Arren. If he insisted on being called by his true name – if he told them all to call him Galbatorix Taranisäii, which he was itching to do… well, he couldn't do that.

'My Lord Arren,' said Islanzadí. 'Because you are due to be inducted, there are things you must do before the ceremony tonight. If you would come with me, I will first show you to your quarters.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Show me the way, Your Majesty.'

Which Islanzadí did. Galbatorix walked beside her, followed by Laela. She showed him the way to his new lodgings – these were in a different part of the valley than the small home he had lived in on his last visit to her realm, and far bigger. It had two levels; at the bottom was a huge empty cavelike space intended for Laela, and above that was a series of rooms for him. It was incredibly luxurious, with a bath, mirrors, cupboards and fine furniture, and elegant arched windows in every wall. There was even a balcony, and a bed so large that three people could have slept in it.

'However,' Islanzadí added, with a hint of amusement in her eyes, 'If the bed is not to your liking, we have provided a hammock for you. It is in the wardrobe. Someone informed us that you may appreciate it.'

Galbatorix was touched by that. 'Thankyou very much, Your Majesty,' he said. 'I'm very grateful.'

She bowed slightly. 'I am pleased to please you, Shur'tugal. Now I will give you some time to change your clothes and rest, but I must ask you to come to the Menoa tree within an hour.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Understood.'

'Then I will leave you now.' Islanzadí made an exit.

While Laela settled into her cave beneath him, Galbatorix yawned and set about preparing himself for the ceremony. He stripped off his travel-stained clothes, bathed and washed his hair, then dressed in his ceremonial outfit. He was far too keyed-up to rest, so once he was satisfied with his appearance he left his lodgings and he and Laela headed straight for the Menoa tree.

There, Islanzadí was waiting. With her were Carina and Vrael. They greeted Galbatorix formally, and Vrael said; 'This is it. Tonight you will be bound up in the ancient magic and presented with your sword, and your training will be complete. Before the ceremony begins, you must prepare yourself. Go from here. Go with Laela. Go wherever you choose, find a place you've never been before. Somewhere secluded. Stop there.'

'And what do I do there, Lord Vrael?'

'Meditate,' Vrael said briefly. 'Lose yourself in your surroundings. Open your mind and contemplate the great mysteries of life. When the moon begins to rise, return to this place. But you must be mentally prepared. After the ceremony, you will have changed forever and there will be no going back. Contemplate that if you contemplate anything.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I understand.'

He climbed into Laela's saddle, and she flew away over the treetops. _'Where shall we go?'_ she asked.

'_I don't know. Anywhere. Not too far.'_

In the end Laela chose to land in an empty, rock-strewn valley in the mountains, by a small stream. There they stopped. Galbatorix seated himself by the stream, cross-legged, and sighed. Contemplation. It was something Vrael had made him do many, many times in the past. Open your mind and take in everything around you, let yourself become one with your surroundings.

He'd always found it very easy to do, and he disliked it. He'd never really been able to see the point of wasting time 'contemplating' and had protested about it in the past, but Vrael had remained unmoved.

Now, though, he had a lot to think about. _'What d'you think Vrael meant when he said the induction would "change" me?'_

'_I don't know,'_ said Laela. _'He probably meant it would change you on the inside.'_

They were silent for a time.

'_So… this is it, then. I'm going to become a full rider. It's been a long time, hasn't it?'_

'_It certainly has,'_ said Laela. _'We've changed so much already… seeing this place again was strange. Last time I was hardly more than a hatchling. And, in a way, so were you.'_

Galbatorix nodded. _'I came to Ellesméra as a boy. But I've grown up, I think. I'm a man now. More than a man. A rider.' _He glanced at the silver circle on his palm, and felt, not for the first time, that calm and powerful sense of certainty. He felt that he was on the cusp of something; standing at a major turning-point in his life. What happened to night would be as momentous in its way as the hatching of Laela. No matter what came out of it, what Vrael had said was true – from tonight, nothing would ever be the same again. His life had changed forever when he had first bonded with Laela. Tonight it would change again.

But he was not afraid. He had Laela, and with her beside him, nothing was too daunting.

They sat together for a long time, not speaking at all, as the sun sank slowly behind the trees in a blaze of orange and gold. Presently, the moon rose.

Galbatorix watched it until it was well over the treetops, and then he sighed and stood up. _'I suppose we should go back, then…'_

Laela stirred. _'All right.'_

Galbatorix climbed back into the saddle. His heart was pounding. _'This is it…'_

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. She squared her shoulders. _'Let's go and face it.'_

The white dragon took off.

When the arrived back at the Menoa tree, they found the festivities were already well underway. Laela landed at the edge of the clearing, and settled down there while Galbatorix went in among the revellers, who fell silent as he passed and bowed low. He was offered food and drink, but took nothing but a goblet of wine, which he emptied and put aside. He found Vrael by the trunk of the Menoa tree, and presented himself to his former master without saying a word.

'Ah,' said Vrael. 'Good to see you back. The presentations of the artworks are about to begin. Watch and wait for your turn.'

Galbatorix nodded and sat down among the roots of the tree, not talking to anyone. In time he was joined by Flell, who sat down beside him. 'There you are,' she said. 'Where did you go?'

'Up into the mountains,' Galbatorix said briefly.

'Are you excited?' Flell asked.

Galbatorix nodded.

After that they had no more opportunity to talk. The presentations of the artworks began. Galbatorix sat and watched in silence. Poems, stories, songs, paintings, carvings… he watched them all indifferently. When it was Flell's turn she got up and displayed a book which she had made – it was an ancient text called _The Dominance of Fate,_ which she had carefully copied out and illuminated. The elves were particularly impressed with this creation.

While this was happening, Galbatorix was joined by Laela. She had managed to get to the base of the Menoa tree without knocking anything down, and she settled down by her rider, her silver eyes fixed on the clear spot where Flell was showing off her work.

Then it was Galbatorix's turn. He was called forward, and all eyes turned toward him.

He looked back coldly at the expectant crowd. Without standing up, he said; 'I have nothing.'

'I beg your pardon?' said someone.

'I said I have nothing,' said Galbatorix, raising his voice slightly. 'I have nothing to show you, and neither does Laela.'

There was a muttering. 'Why?' someone asked.

'Because I chose not to bring anything,' said Galbatorix.

An awkward silence followed. Galbatorix sat calmly and ignored the stares he was attracting. Let them stare. He didn't care.

The presentations were resumed without further comment, and Galbatorix continued to watch, his expression openly bored.

Laela rustled her wings. _'That was a slap in the face to them,'_ she said. _'You just insulted them all. So did I, come to that.'_

'_Good.'_

Laela grinned.

And then, at the height of the ceremony, it was time. Vrael came forward, clad all in white with his sword on his back. There was a long, cloth-wrapped object in his hands. The lord of riders stood there in silence, his head bowed, while, from the crowd, his fellows appeared one by one and formed a circle around him. Carina was there, and Saraswati, and Yansan. The dragons came forward as well, each one moving to stand behind its rider while the ordinary revellers quietly melted away into the background.

Galbatorix stood up. This was it.

Vrael looked up. 'Arren Cardockson of Teirm,' he intoned. 'Come forward into our circle and join with us.'

Galbatorix breathed in deeply. As they stood there like that, their dragons with them and their swords at their backs, the riders looked more formidable than any people he had ever seen before. They were different ages, different genders, different sizes and shapes, but there was something about them that made them all the same. The same pointed ears. The same deep, mysterious eyes. The same aura of ancient and terrible power.

He realised now, almost for the first time, what they were. They were not elves or humans. They were something else. They were above and beyond all others, including himself. Immortal. Far-seeing, quick-minded, all bound up and driven by magic older than time itself, each one made complete by the dragon that was his or her partner. They were the silver-handed ones, the Argetlam, the Shur'tugal, the Dragon Riders, the Lords of Alagaësia, the greatest magicians, warriors and leaders the world had ever known.

And now they stood there, united in their power, beckoning him to come forward and join them.

For what felt like a hundred years he stood there and watched them, all his strength and all his certainty draining away. He felt as if everything he had learned and everything he had done since the day he bonded with Laela had been dragged out of him, leaving him empty and vulnerable… just a bastard boy, alone in the world, caught up in the workings of a power he did not understand.

'I can't do this,' he whispered.

For a fraction of a second he had an overpowering urge to flee, but in the next moment Laela was in his head, her strength and certainty filling him and holding him steady. _'Calm down,'_ she said. _'Go forward, Galbatorix. They're waiting for you. Go!'_

That was when he was sure. He screwed up his courage, and stepped into the circle. Every step felt heavy and slow, as if time had come to a standstill. The stars shone overhead, the trees all about sighed in the nighttime breezes, and he could hear his own heart thudding in his chest.

And then, quite suddenly, it was all over and he was standing there in front of Vrael, his head bowed humbly.

Vrael held out the object he was holding. 'Take it,' he said in a low voice. 'It is yours.'

Galbatorix accepted it. It was much heavier than he'd expected. His fingers felt numb and clumsy, but he pulled away the cloth wrappings and… _it_ was revealed.

A sword. His sword. The sword of a rider.

It was almost exactly as it had appeared in the fairth he had made of it, a lifetime ago as it seemed to him now. The blade was pure white, swirling with faint hints of silver, as if it had been forged out of distilled moonlight. It was sharp and deeply channelled, tapering to an elegant point, and the handle was crafted perfectly to fit his grasp. The hilt was made from silver and had a beautiful simplicity to it. Set into the pommel was the Ra'zac's diamond, now polished and sparkling like a chunk of ice. The sword carried no other ornamentation but one – on the blade, just above the hilt, was an etching of a triple-spiral design – the same design that was tattooed on his shoulder. The emblem of the House of Taranis.

'Your sword,' said Vrael, breaking into his thoughts. 'You must give it a name. Today or tomorrow or the day after that… you must name it. It will be your companion in battle. Wield it with honour and courage all your days, Arren Cardockson. You are one of us now.'

Galbatorix had been taught the words he must say. 'I accept this sword, and the responsibility it represents,' he said. 'I shall be a rider all my days, and live by the code of honour. I shall be one of you.'

Vrael nodded. 'Then let us take Arren Cardockson into our great company,' he said, addressing all his fellow riders as one. 'Let us make him our own. Let the magic be bound about him now.'

The riders moved as one. They held out their hands, palm-first, showing the gleaming silver gedwëy ignaesias like tiny moons in the clearing. Vrael laid his own hand on Galbatorix's forehead, and braced himself. The other riders spoke with one voice, reciting a string of words in the ancient language, and the magic was woven. A beam of light shot from each outstretched palm, each one a different colour. Green, red, blue, yellow, gold… each one matching a dragon's scales. The light hit Vrael, outlining the old elf with its glory. Galbatorix felt Vrael's hand become burning hot on his forehead, and prepared himself for what was to follow.

Seconds later, the magic passed through Vrael and into Galbatorix. Into his forehead and down into his body, filling him up from end to end. He went rigid, his hands gripping the white-bladed sword until the skin broke. He felt no pain at all. All he could feel was the magic. It moved through him, unstoppably, making him burn all over. His skin prickled fiercely, and he gritted his teeth, feeling as if he were going to burst apart and be scattered to the far corners of the world.

At long last Vrael withdrew his hand. The spell was completed. For a few seconds Galbatorix stood there, swaying slightly. He opened his eyes, but everything was grey and hazy. He tried to move, but the world was spinning. The sword dropped out of his hands and he crumpled to the ground without a sound.


	15. White Violence

Chapter Fifteen

White Violence

Galbatorix woke up slowly the next morning. He groaned and rolled over in bed. His head was aching. Was he hung over? He opened his eyes, utterly confused. Where was he? How had he got there?

It took him a few minutes to recognise his new temporary home. He was lying in the bed, still clad in his ceremonial outfit, and a blaze of sunshine was coming in through the windows. He sat up carefully.

Something had changed. He wasn't sure what. He ached all over, as if he'd been in a fight. He tried to remember what had happened the night before. When he spotted the white-bladed sword, lying innocently on the table, it came rushing back.

He patted himself down frantically, checking for injuries. There weren't any. Although he was a little sore, he felt fine. Feeling a little calmer, he picked up the sword and examined it again. It was beautiful. Every bit as fine as Vrael's, or any of the other riders' swords he'd seen. No. It was better. It was his sword.

He grasped it by the hilt and flourished it experimentally. It was heavier than it looked, but it was perfectly balanced and natural in his hands. He swung it at the empty air, taking hold of it with both hands, and performed several mock-fighting moves with it, twirling the weapon expertly. It was perfect. A million times better than the practise swords he had learned with, and better than the one he had used at Dras-Leona to fight the Ra'zac. _My sword._

He put it aside, feeling warm all over with pride, and went to the basin to splash his face. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze.

Something had caught his eye. He examined himself closely, not sure what it was. He didn't look any different. A little tired and wan, but otherwise fine. But there was something… something he wasn't sure of, but something had definitely changed.

He calmed down a little. It was probably nothing. Remembering something else, he reached out mentally. _'Laela, are you there?'_

'_Yes,'_ she replied fairly quickly. _'How do you feel?'_

'_Fine. What happened?'_

'_You fainted,'_ said Laela. _'At the ceremony, when they finished casting the spell.'_

Galbatorix cringed. _'Oh no. Did everyone see me?'_

'_Of course. But there's nothing to be embarrassed about. They told me every new rider passes out after the spell is completed. It takes a massive toll on you, you see, so fainting is a perfectly normal response. They carried you back here afterward.'_

'_Are you all right, Laela?'_

'_I'm well enough,'_ said Laela. _'The spell affected me too. Congratulations, Galbatorix… you're a full rider now. Sword and all.'_

Galbatorix grinned. _'It's a beautiful sword. I-,'_ He stopped dead.

'_What is it?'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix didn't reply. He was looking at himself in the mirror again, and at long last he realised what it was that had bothered him before.

All the joy went out of him.

'_What's wrong?'_ said Laela, a note of concern in her voice now.

'_Laela… did you know?'_

'_Know what?'_

Galbatorix looked at his reflection, his stomach churning with horror. He touched them to see if they were real, and they were. 'Oh no,' he mumbled. 'No! No, no, no, no…'

'_What _is_ it?'_ Laela demanded, by now very worried indeed.

Galbatorix sat down by the fire that was burning in the grate. He could feel himself trembling slightly. _'Laela, it's…'_

'_It's what? For the love of gods, tell me!'_

'_My ears,'_ said Galbatorix. _'They're pointed!'_

Laela shared a feeling of confusion. _'What's so terrible about that?'_

'_Laela, you don't understand! It's the spell! They've – I don't want… they're turning me into an elf! I won't let them, dammit, I don't _want_ to be an elf! I want to stay human!'_

'_Calm down,'_ said Laela. _'It doesn't matter. Who cares if your ears are pointed now? It doesn't change anything.'_

Galbatorix didn't hear her. His breathing had gone harsh and ragged. He forced himself to look in the mirror again, and he hated what he saw. An elf. An elf, staring back at him. He had all the features. A fine, pale face, angular features, and pointed ears.

It made hot bile rise in his throat. _'I've been changed against my will,'_ he raged, digging his fingers into his now-pointed ears as if trying to force them to become round again. _'I don't _want_ this! They violated me, Laela!'_

She could sense his rising anger, and he could sense her apprehension. _'Calm down, just calm down,'_ she said. _'Don't do anything stupid…'_

But he couldn't make himself be calm. _'I'm not taking it,' _he snarled, standing up. '_They're not going to make me do this. I'm human and I always will be, and they're not taking that away from me. I'm going to fight back.'_

'_But how?'_

Galbatorix cast about, wild-eyed, and saw a dagger lying innocently on the table. His fingers closed around it.

A few seconds later Laela shuddered. _'What are you doing? What are you doing to yourself? Stop it! Stop it! It hurts!'_

But her cries went unheeded. Galbatorix shut her out of his mind, and she could not feel him at all.

She waited in her little home, caught in the grip of a terror so profound that it infected every inch of her. She could not stop shivering. She reached out desperately with her mind, trying to find Galbatorix's mind again, but he blocked her with terrible, ruthless ease. She had never realised that he was so strong in the mind. Before they had always been in harmony with each other, but now he had suddenly turned on her, and it left her feeling more alone than she had ever been in her life. Whereas once she could always feel his presence in the back of her mind, now she felt nothing. He was gone, and suddenly Laela did not know what to do.

At long last, when she was half-mad with fear, he reopened the channel and gently let her back into his mind. The first thing she got from him was pain. She could feel it, and it was deep and terrible. With it came fear – his fear. _'Galbatorix!' _she called. _'Where are you? What's going on? What have you done!'_

He was silent for a long time before he replied. _'I… I've chosen a name for my sword.'_

'_What? What are you talking about? You're scaring me.'_

He did not reply. Laela left her shelter and emerged into the sunlight, staring up at the windows of his lodgings. She couldn't see any sign of him.

Finally, she could bear it no longer. She dug her claws into the wall and lifted herself up to the nearest window. It was closed, but she smashed it with her snout and forced her head through the hole, ignoring the broken glass jabbing into her neck.

Galbatorix was inside, sitting hunched by the fire and staring at something in the palm of his hand. His hair and clothes were stained with blood.

Laela strained desperately to reach him, jamming her neck through the broken window-frame until she could go no further. But it was just far enough to reach him. She touched him with her snout. 'Galbatorix,' she said aloud. 'Galbatorix, can you hear me? What's wrong with you?'

He looked up at her and smiled wanly. 'I was trying to think of a name for my sword,' he said, sounding slightly dazed. 'I'm going to call it _Hvítr Atganga_. White Violence. D'you… d'you think that's a good name?' His voice suddenly became vague, and he slumped backward into a chair, his free hand scrabbling at the floor in an attempt to pull himself up again. That was when Laela saw the bloody dagger on the floor in front of him. There was more blood on his hands. And, as he rolled onto his side and got unsteadily to his feet, she realised what he had done.

'Your ears…' she said.

Galbatorix grinned manically at her. 'I told… told you they wouldn't make me an elf.'

'How could you _do_ that to yourself?' Laela demanded. 'Are you out of your mind? You've mutilated yourself!'

'_No!_' Galbatorix shouted, stumbling toward her. _'They_ mutilated me. I just… oh…' he groaned and clutched at his head, and sank into a chair. He held his right hand over his head and said; 'W-waíse heill.'

The bleeding stopped a few seconds later, and he felt his ears carefully. He sighed. 'It worked. It worked. They're round again. Thank gods.'

'That's it!' Laela roared. 'I've had it! What the hell is wrong with you, Galbatorix? Why are you so terrified of becoming an elf? What's wrong with it? How could you possibly do that to yourself just because you don't like them?'

Galbatorix looked up at her. He was pale, but strangely calm. 'Because I'm human,' he said simply. 'Because I was born human and I'll stay human because that's what I am. I don't want to be like… have you seen them, Laela? I mean, really seen them? Seen what they're like? They're all the same! They all look exactly the same! You can't even tell the men from the women, for gods' sakes! I hate them. They smile like… everything they are is so hollow, it's as if they don't have souls or minds of their own. All the laughter and singing, it's sickening. _They_ were the ones who taught the riders all that… made them do all those terrible things. My father's people died because of them. The elves didn't like them, so they made the riders destroy them. It's wrong, Laela. All wrong. Why this…? All the new riders come to the elves to learn. Why? Why not the dwarves? Why not the dragons? Why not other _humans?_ Humans know how to fight and lead. Why do we have to become elves to be riders? Why can't they just accept us as we are? I don't care that humans are weaker than elves. We're _people._ We shouldn't have to change that to please someone else. All that philosophy they taught us, all that garbage about… there are no gods. That's what they told me. All gods are false. They wiped out believers everywhere. Just having a god is enough to make you inferior. And if you're inferior, you conform or you die. No, Laela. They're not making me do it. They'll never make me do it. Never. I'm human and I'll fight to stay that way if I have to. Because if they try and force me to turn into an elf… I would rather die.'

He fell silent, staring at what he was still holding in his hand. As Laela tried once again to reach him, he turned and threw the two little triangles of flesh into the fire.

Then, at long last, he went to her and embraced her tightly. _'I'm sorry,'_ he said, reverting to mental speech. _'Sorry I scared you. It's just that… seeing myself like that put a madness in me. Are you all right?'_

Laela stilled under his touch. _'I need… I need to be alone for a while. To think.'_

Galbatorix let go of her. _'All right. Look after yourself, Laela.'_

Laela pulled her head back out of the window without saying anything, leaving Galbatorix all alone. He realised that there was blood all over his hands, and tried to clean it off on his clothes, which were now utterly ruined. He was feeling weak and shaky from a combination of pain, blood loss and fear, and his hands were trembling.

He was about to begin clearing away the mess he had made when there was a knock on the door. Before he could call out to the visitor to leave him alone, the door opened and Flell came in. She froze in the doorway, her blue eyes taking in everything. 'Oh my gods,' she said. 'What happened here?'

Galbatorix turned. 'Hello, Flell,' he said huskily.

Flell hurried toward him. 'I saw Laela break the window, and… oh my gods, your hands! Where's… are you hurt?'

'I'm fine,' said Galbatorix.

She clasped his blood-stained hands, looking up at him with a bewildered expression. 'I don't understand. Where did all this blood come from?'

'I cut myself,' said Galbatorix. 'It's fine now. I've healed it. Flell, what's the matter?'

Flell was looking visibly distressed. 'I'm… Galbatorix, I've got something to tell you, but…'

'Sit down,' said Galbatorix. 'Here.' He guided her to the chair by the fireplace, hastily kicking the dagger away out of sight. She didn't notice. She sat down, and he saw that she was pale and that her eyes were reddened.

He sat down in the chair opposite her. 'What's going on?' he asked. 'Has something happened?'

Flell was tangling her fingers together, twisting them together again and again. He realised that she was still wearing her clothes from the previous night, and her hair was a tangled mess. There was a tense silence, and then she looked up at him. 'Galbatorix, I'm pregnant.'

He blinked. _'What?'_

'I wasn't sure… I thought maybe I was just ill,' said Flell, the works tumbling out of her in a rush. 'But… it's been two full moons and I haven't bled. Last night I talked to an elvish herbalist, and she said… well, I should start to have a swelling in a month or so.'

She looked at him with terrible helplessness. 'Galbatorix, what am I going to do?'

He couldn't quite grasp this. 'But… how did this happen? Weren't you taking the potion?'

Flell let out a sound that might have been a sob. 'I thought… I didn't think it would matter,' she said, now on the verge of tears. 'I thought it would be all right. Oh gods, I'm so stupid…'

Galbatorix took her into his arms. 'It's all right,' he soothed. 'Calm down. You'll be fine. I just… well, what are you going to do?' he looked at her seriously. 'You could… if you don't want it, you could give it out for adoption, or…'

'I want to keep it,' said Flell. 'It's mine. Ours. But… will you help me?'

Galbatorix looked at her. 'You mean… you want me to marry you?'

'I can't do this alone,' said Flell, her slim form shuddering in his arms. 'I need… it's your child, Galbatorix. Every child needs parents.'

Galbatorix let go of her and sat down heavily. His stomach was churning a hundred times worse than it had done the previous night at the Blood-Oath celebration. He was going to be a father. It was too much to take in.

Flell was looking at him entreatingly, and he knew what she was truly asking him for. She needed support. She hadn't been prepared for this to happen, and now that it had she couldn't do it alone. So she had come to him to look for strength. She wanted him to marry her so that he would stay with her and help her, and if he said no it would be tantamount to leaving her to fend for herself.

It was a strange feeling. Did he really want to marry Flell? When he had been younger, back in Teirm, he had always assumed that one day he would marry and settle down to raise a family. But after he became a rider he had forgotten all about such notions. It had never really occurred to him that riders could marry or become parents.

He looked at Flell again, as if hoping to find an answer in her pretty, tear-stained face. And he did find it, or so he thought. He loved Flell very much. The prospect of staying with her for the rest of his life wasn't an unpleasant one. He had just never thought of marrying so young, when he was barely setting out on his new way of life.

But he couldn't abandon Flell. Not now.

He took her hands in his. 'Fell,' he said softly. 'If… if that's what you want, then yes. I'm as responsible for this as you are. If you want to marry me, then that's what we'll do, and I'll help you raise the child. _Our_ child. But…'

Flell's hands tensed in his. 'But what?' she said, sitting down and watching him closely.

Galbatorix hesitated. 'I can't… I'll be your husband, Flell, but there's something you have to know. I can't keep it a secret from you. Not now.'

'What is it?' said Flell. She was looking confused and frightened.

Galbatorix bowed his head. 'I should have told you a long time ago, Flell. I'm telling you because I trust you completely. I love you, Flell. Truly. Do you know that?'

'I do,' said Flell. 'I know it, Galbatorix.'

'You must never tell this to anyone else,' said Galbatorix. 'Never, do you understand? It has to be kept a secret. If anyone else finds out, it could put my life in danger and maybe yours as well.'

'I understand,' said Flell, but he knew that she didn't. How could she? 'You're scaring me,' she said.

'I'm sorry,' said Galbatorix. 'But you have to know. Flell, I'm… I'm a half-breed.'

'What?' said Flell. 'Galbatorix, I don't understand.'

'I'm a half-breed,' Galbatorix said again, in a low voice. 'I'm half elvish. Half _dark_ elf. On my father's side.'

Flell let go of his hand. 'No. No that's not… that's not possible.'

Galbatorix fumbled in his pocket. 'No… no. It's true. Look. Here. See?' he handed her a piece of paper. Flell unfolded it and read what was on it. Galbatorix watched her with terrible sadness in his eyes. 'Skandar Traeganni of the dark elves of the North, and Ingë Taranisäii of the Ancient House of Taranis. My parents, Flell.'

She looked up at him again, the paper held loosely in one hand. 'But this is… this is just an old record. It doesn't mean anything.'

'It does,' Galbatorix insisted. 'Look! _"…was offered a pardon under condition of terminating her pregnancy… sentenced to die upon the birth of the child…"_ The child was _me_, Flell, don't you understand?'

'But-,'

'_Look_ at me,' Galbatorix urged. 'Can't you see it in my face? Didn't you ever think that I didn't look human? I'm half dark elf. I was born that way. That's why I'm stronger than other humans. That's why I could fight like an elf. It's because I am one.'

Flell's bewilderment and fear was written all over her face. 'But… why didn't you tell me?'

'I'm sorry, Flell,' said Galbatorix. 'I should have. But I was afraid. You see… I'm the only half-breed I know of. When people knew it back home, they… people tried to kill me. And if the riders knew… if Vrael knew what I was… he fought the dark elves. He was the one who sold my father into slavery. If he found out I was one of his enemies, if he found out I was a half-breed… I don't know what he would do. But if it got out, I could die for it. Do you understand, Flell?'

He reached out to take her hand again, but she pulled away. She was looking at him now with undisguised horror. 'But – a _half-breed?_ And you never told me, and… and…'

'You mustn't tell anyone,' Galbatorix said urgently. 'Flell, you mustn't. For my sake. Please.'

Flell rose from her chair. She had gone very pale. For a moment it looked as if she were trying to speak, but then she turned and hurried out, closing the door behind her.

Later that day, once he had cleaned himself up and rested a while, Galbatorix went to see Vrael. He did so reluctantly, and had pulled his hair over his ears in the hopes that no-one would notice the scars.

To his surprise he found Vrael was looking decidedly the worse for wear. He was sitting in the sunshine with a jug of water, and was pale and red-eyed. He moved rather gingerly, and winced at the slightest sound, and in spite of everything Galbatorix had to stifle a laugh when he realised what that meant. Apparently even the lord of the riders could have a hangover.

He presented himself to his former master, clad in his customary black with his sword slung across his back, and waited for him to speak first.

'Ah. Good morning, young Arren,' Vrael mumbled. 'You slept well, I trust?'

'Yes, master,' said Galbatorix, not troubling to keep his voice down. 'And I've named my sword.'

Vrael cringed. 'Ah. Good, good… may I enquire as to what you have named it?'

Galbatorix touched the hilt. 'Its name is '_Hvítr Atganga_,' he said. 'White Violence.'

'A good name,' said Vrael. 'Tell the smith, and she will engrave the name on the hilt. And afterwards…' he paused and downed another cup of water. 'We have an assignment for you,' he croaked.

Galbatorix waited.

'We have decided to grant you the governorship of Teirm, your home city,' Vrael told him. 'We think the role would suit you. You'll oversee trade negotiations and building projects, preside over legal cases and, if need be, organise military tactics in the event of war.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Me, govern a city? But… wouldn't someone more experienced with that sort of thing be better? I only just finished my training – I thought I'd spend some time working alongside someone more senior or something.'

Vrael, however, was in no mood for discussing matters. 'I have given you an order, Arren. Now carry it out.'

Galbatorix took the hint. 'Yes, my Lord,' he said promptly.

'Now, leave me,' said Vrael. 'I will speak to you again later.'

Galbatorix left, deep in thought. This was bad news. While he was miles away in Teirm, unable to leave because of his duties, Flell would be still in training in Ilirea. He wouldn't be able to be there for her. Without him there she would be isolated and probably afraid, but what could he do? Perhaps he could ask for permission to take her with him to Teirm. But he couldn't see why Vrael would let him do that. What would he do if he found out about the child? Would he force Flell to give it away? Would the pair of them be in trouble? He doubted that. Vrael was, after all, an elf, and elves proclaimed themselves to be a people who honoured life. And a child, after all, was a new life. Maybe they would be pleased. Maybe they would offer their help and everything would be all right. Maybe Flell's fear was completely groundless.

The only thing to do was to find her and talk it over with her. He hadn't missed the shock in her eyes when he had told her the truth, and he knew he had to find her and try and explain himself, and hope that she would accept the truth.

But he couldn't find her. He spent the rest of that day wandering Ellesméra at a loose end, feeling more and more isolated and unhappy. He couldn't find Flell anywhere, and nor did anyone seem to know where she was. Nor did he know where Laela was. He felt cut off, as if he had been abandoned by everyone he cared about.

In the end, not knowing what else to do, he found a secluded spot by a river and sat down there under a willow tree – the same tree, he realised, that he and Laela had once sat in and shared their pasts. There he sat down by the waterside, hugging his knees and nursing the dull, hollow ache in his chest.

But he was not the only one feeling miserable and uncertain. Somewhere up in the mountains, Laela was pacing back and forth in an isolated valley, her tail lashing over the ground and her claws scattering the loose stones. Her head was low to the ground, and from time to time she would stop and compulsively groom her wings. She made no attempt to talk to Galbatorix, but she could still feel him in her head and she could feel his anxiety mirroring her own. She had thought she knew him better than anyone else; better than he knew himself, but from the moment he had begun doing what he did he had suddenly felt more alien to her than she had ever imagined he could be. He had been right when he said he had changed. The boy was becoming a man. And she wasn't sure if she liked or understood the kind of man he was becoming.

And, hidden away in a glade deep in the forest, Flell too was unhappy. She sat hugging her knees, unknowingly mimicking what Galbatorix was doing at that moment. There were tears on her face, but her sobs had died away by now.

Thrain was with her. The purple dragon sat hunched by her rider, trying to comfort her with her presence. _'What are you going to do, Flell?'_ she asked.

'_I don't know, Thrain,'_ said Flell. _'I just don't…'_

Her head was full of Galbatorix. All she could think of was his face. That fierce, angular face with its glittering black eyes, staring at her with a pleading, frightened look. It was a face she had believed that she loved, but she could not make herself forget what he had told her. And whenever she thought of him now, all she could think of was the blood on his hands, the terrible things he had said.

Flell shuddered. _'He's a half-breed,'_ she whispered. _'A _half-breed!_ I can't… I never… and I'm… it's his child inside me.'_

'_Do you love him?'_ Thrain asked her quietly.

'_I don't know,'_ Flell faltered. _'I just don't…'_ she broke into a fresh wave of sobs.

'_Calm down, Flell,'_ said Thrain. _'Breath. Don't panic, just think. Do you love him?'_

'_He's a-,'_

'_Do you love him?'_ Thrain said again.

Flell controlled herself with some effort. _'I do,'_ she said. _'I do love him. But I'm frightened of him, Thrain. Where did all that blood come from? What did he do to himself? How can I marry him?'_

'_You wanted to before,'_ said Thrain. _'Why should that have changed?'_

Flell didn't know. _'He's been lying to us all this time,'_ she said. _'Lying to me! He put this child in me… this half-breed child. What if someone finds out? What will they do to me if they know? What will they do to the child?'_

'_I don't know, Flell.'_

Flell shuddered. 'How could he do this to me?' she shouted suddenly, aloud. 'He lied to me!'

'_He didn't do it to hurt you, Flell,'_ said Thrain. _'He was frightened. He needs you to help him, Flell. Just like you need him. You should talk to him.'_

Flell said nothing.

'_Did you hear me?'_ Thrain said sharply. _'_Talk_ to him, Flell. You have to.'_

Flell stood up. _'I can't.'_

Galbatorix didn't leave the spot under the willow tree until the sun was almost ready to set. When he realised the sky was darkening, he stood up. He couldn't bear it any longer, and he reached out mentally for Laela. She was receptive, but didn't say anything.

'_Laela, where are you?'_

There was no reply. He started to feel frightened, but a few moments later there was a rush of air and she was there, coming down to land beside him. The white dragon closed her wings and brought her head down toward him, and he touched her snout, his heart fluttering with relief. _'There you are. Where were you? Are you all right?'_

Laela sighed deeply, her hot breath ruffling his hair. _'I've been thinking,'_ she said. _'And… I don't know if what you're doing is right. But I can understand why you don't want to be an elf, and if this is the only way you can stop it…'_ she looked at him, her silver eyes full of compassion. _'I just want you to know that I'm with you, and I agree with you.'_

Galbatorix felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He put his arms around Laela's neck and hugged her. _'Thankyou, Laela. Thankyou so much.'_

She growled deep in her throat. _'We're partners, you little fool. I'll stand by you no matter what you do, just as you'll stand by me. It's what we'll always do. And if you've got any consideration for me at all, you won't do that to me again.'_

'_I didn't do anything to you, Laela. I did it to myself.'_

Laela groaned. _'Are you really that stupid, Galbatorix? Don't you get it by now? Everything you do to yourself, you do to me.'_

'_I'm sorry I shut you out, but I didn't want you to be hurt. That's all.'_

'_I can handle pain,'_ Laela growled. _'What I can't handle is you blocking me out like that. It just… I can't stand it. It makes me feel lost. Never do that to me again, understand? I'm your partner. Share everything with me. Including your pain.'_

Galbatorix hesitated. _'Are you sure, Laela?'_

'_Yes.'_

He sat down. _'There's something I have to tell you, then.'_

'_I'm listening.'_

Galbatorix told her about Flell. _'Did I do the right thing, telling her?'_

Laela shared a feeling of nervousness. _'I suppose you owed it to her. What did she say?'_

'_Nothing. She just ran off.'_

'_Well, I can understand that,'_ said Laela. _'But you should look for her and talk to her again, to make sure she's all right.'_

'_I've been trying to find her, but I don't know where she is. And if I don't talk to her before we leave Ellesméra, I don't know when I'll get to see her again. Vrael's making me the governor of Teirm. Flell will still be in Ilirea. We might not see each other for months.'_

'_You'll have to talk to Vrael, then,'_ said Laela. _'Make sure he looks after her.'_

For some reason the idea disgusted Galbatorix. _'I don't trust him.'_

'_You'll have to. Talk it over with Flell. Find a way.'_

But he didn't see Flell again in Ellesméra. When he and Laela returned to the valley they were greeted by an elf. 'My Lord Arren. We have been looking for you.'

Galbatorix looked around. There was a strange quietness in the elvish settlement. He couldn't see any dragons anywhere. 'Where is everyone?' he asked.

'They have gone, my Lord,' said the elf. 'Lord Vrael has returned to Ilirea with his student, and the others have gone their separate ways. Lord Vrael gave me a message for you, which is that you are to go to Teirm immediately and take up your new duties. The people have been informed of your coming and will be prepared to help you settle in.'

Galbatorix's heart sank. 'I understand,' he said.

He returned to his lodgings and began packing while Laela waited outside. A pair of elves put her saddle on, and by the time Galbatorix emerged with his luggage she was ready to go. Once his bags were secured to the saddle, he climbed up and strapped his legs into place. He was clad in thick black wool, and White Violence was in its sheath on his back.

As he settled into place and took hold of the handholds built into the saddle to steady himself, there was a sudden commotion from the trees to his left. He looked around in time to see an elf come running toward him, shouting; 'My Lord! My Lord! You must help!'

'What is it?' Galbatorix demanded.

The elf pointed Northward, in the direction of the mountains. 'The Queen has been attacked by a wild dragon! You must catch it!'

Galbatorix looked up. Seconds later, a huge shape rose over the treetops. It was a dragon, its silver scales glinting in the sun. A small figure was hanging from its claws. As he watched, the dragon flew up and over the mountains, and away.

'Go after it!' the elf shouted. 'Quickly!'

Galbatorix looked at him. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But I don't take orders from elves.'

Laela took off, and the pair of them flew away, heading South and away from Ellesméra.


	16. The Ancient House of Taranis

Chapter Sixteen

The Ancient House of Taranis

The journey to Teirm passed uneventfully. Laela came down to land up on the dragon roost built into the castle and Galbatorix dismounted gratefully. People had seen them coming, and came up to meet their new governor. Everything was prepared for him; the governor's quarters had been cleaned and refurnished for his use and dozens of servants and officials were waiting upon his command. He had a bedchamber, a study, an audience chamber and a stable with a thoroughbred horse specifically for his use. Within hours he had settled into his new home, and his new duties began.

There was letter from Vrael on the desk in the study. He opened it with a dagger. Inside was a piece of folded parchment and a large silver seal ring bearing the emblem of the riders. He read the letter.

_Arren Cardockson,_

_Allow me to congratulate you on your new position. You will be governor of Teirm until your services are required elsewhere. Rely on your own judgement and learning in your decisions. You are hereby given complete control over the city and will be trusted to rule over it without interference and without the need to refer to the elders. However, below is a brief list of specific orders that we have for you._

_Instruct the city's guards to be on the lookout for the fugitive traitor Einás Egg-Guardian of Ellesméra, who is guilty of sheltering a dangerous wild dragon. Said dragon is guilty of having attacked Queen Islanzadí. She is silver in colour and goes by the name of Skade, daughter of the Night Dragon. Should either of these two be spotted near Teirm, you are required to make every effort to capture them. Should you do so, send them immediately and unharmed to Ilirea where they will be put on trial._

_A female Shade has been sighted in the countryside not far from Teirm. White haired and silver eyed, said to go by the name of Rangda. Listen carefully for any word of her and inform the elders immediately of any information you receive._

_There have been reports of smugglers operating in Teirm; we would like to urge you to make an effort to stamp them out. The criminals are believed to be trading in stolen goods and illegal whiteleaf. Should you apprehend any of them, we expect you to mete out severe punishment upon them._

The letter went on to list a few more instructions, mostly detailing various matters that he would have to deal with within the city and a few other fugitives he was expected to keep an eye out for. He read the first instruction several times with a feeling of disbelief. Einás Egg-Guardian, a traitor? Surely not. He remembered the ancient elf's kindly face and soft voice, and decided that he couldn't think of anyone less likely to turn traitor.

He also remembered the silver dragon he had seen escape from Ellesméra, and wished he hadn't refused to go after it. He'd got a pang of malicious pleasure from seeing the shocked look on the elf's face, but when Vrael found out he would be highly unimpressed.

Still, what did it matter? He doubted that Einás would be any danger to anyone, dragon or no. And he couldn't help but feel sympathetic toward anyone who was being persecuted by the elves, no matter what they'd done. He decided that, if he did happen to be the one who caught them, he would talk to Einás and find out just what had happened before he gave her to Vrael.

In the meantime, he had more important things to attend to.

The morning after his arrival, his duties began. He spent the morning talking to the city's officials, who briefed him on everything that was going on in Teirm, from trade to building and law and order. He listened carefully and asked questions, determined not to miss anything important. It was all deeply uninteresting, but he didn't allow his mind to wander. He wanted to prove that he could do this, not just to Vrael and the other elders but also to himself. _Now_ was the time when he could begin using his power. His training was over. Now he was the one who would pass judgement on commoners, and he was the one who had power over how they lived their lives. If his mother and father were still alive, it would be him they would be brought before, not Menulis. If he had been in power then, he could have stopped it.

Sadly, though, the chance to make the running of the city more just refused to leap out at him. Instead he found himself dealing with only one thing: paperwork.

He sat in his office with ink and a quill for hours on end, while an endless string of forms and letters were brought in for him to read, sign and seal. Trade agreements, property deals, a search warrant for the home of a suspected smuggler, an order to close the local granary and send in a group of rat-catchers… the list went on and on.

Galbatorix could hardly believe it. Here he was, a dragon-rider with full command of powerful magical forces, the alliance of a dragon and one of the finest swords in the land in his belt, and he was stuck in a chilly stone office battling _paperwork_.

He began to feel more and more impatient. What sort of a joke was this? A year of training and he was going to spend the rest of his life doing _this?_

When lunchtime finally gave him an excuse to get away, he took the opportunity offered to him and quietly disappeared into the city. The paperwork could wait, and for now there was something he very much wanted to do.

The great house that had once belonged to the House of Taranis was close to the castle, and he headed straight for it. This time, unlike the day when he had gone wandering in Dras-Leona, he was wearing a fine set of clothes and had his sword with him. It meant that he was instantly recognised by people he passed, who gaped at him and bowed low if he looked at them. Before long he was wishing he had gone out incognito, especially when people started to harass him with questions.

'My Lord! My Lord, may I ask your advice?'

'Argetlam, would you favour me with a-,'

He ignored them all and hurried on, hoping they would give up and go away, but then he was waylaid by an elderly woman who cornered him against a wall and thrust a small bundle at him, saying; 'Bless him, Argetlam. Please.'

Galbatorix peered bemusedly at the bundle. It was a baby, fast asleep. Then he looked at the woman. 'What?'

She had the decency to look embarrassed. 'I was hoping that you would speak a blessing over this child, Argetlam. He has been left without a father, and he will need strength.'

Galbatorix was completely bemused. He'd had plenty of people nag him for favours so far, but nothing this bizarre. But the woman was looking at him expectantly, and he decided to play along. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll see what I can do.' He licked his thumb and pressed it into the child's forehead, then spoke in the ancient language, making it up as he went along. 'Good luck, whoever you are. Take my advice and stay out of politics. You'll be better off trying to live a little more sensibly.'

He removed his thumb and raised his eyebrows at the woman. 'Will that do?'

'Thankyou, Argetlam!' said the woman. 'Thankyou so much! I'll-,'

'It was my pleasure,' Galbatorix muttered, and went on his way, caught between irritation and amusement.

He finally reached the ancestral home of the Taranisäiis, which was a grand, red-brick building whose walls were decorated with red-leafed ivy. Over the door was a stone carving of the family's coat of arms, and the steps leading up to it were flanked by a pair of dragon statues. The windows, however, were boarded up.

He went to the front door anyway and knocked. No answer. It was locked. He looked around for inspiration, and a man passing in the street, seeing him, stopped and said; 'You won't get in there, sir. It's all been abandoned. No-one's lived there in years.'

'I want a look inside,' said Galbatorix. 'Do you know how I can do that?'

'Well, there's the caretaker who lives just next door,' said the man. 'He's got the keys. I'd go and have a word with him if I was you.'

'Thankyou,' said Galbatorix.

The caretaker's house was very small, especially in comparison with the mansion it was nestled beside. Galbatorix knocked on the door. It was answered by a middle-aged man with a slight squint, who opened the door and said; ''Ere, what d'you want? I was in the middle of a – oh! Good gods. I'm sorry, my Lord. Didn't have any idea someone like you would be comin' to my door. What can I do for you?'

'I'm interested in having a look around inside the Taranisäii house,' said Galbatorix. 'I was told you could let me in. Would that be a problem?'

'Oh, not at all,' said the man. 'Just give me a moment.' He disappeared inside and returned a short while later, bearing a large ring of keys.

Galbatorix stood aside while the caretaker locked the door of his home, and then followed him back to the door of the mansion. The caretaker unlocked it, saying; 'May I ask why you're interested, my Lord?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'I grew up in Teirm and saw this house a dozen times. I always wondered what it was like inside.'

The caretaker chuckled. 'Well then, your wish is granted. D'you mind if I ask you your name?'

'I'm Galbatorix,' said Galbatorix. 'And you?'

'Sandor, if it pleases you, my Lord Galbatorix. Now, let's go in.'

Sandor opened the door, and a gust of stale air blew out. Galbatorix entered the darkened house, and found himself standing in a grand entrance hall with an arched roof. Sandor joined him. He unhooked a lantern from the wall and lit it, holding it up so that Galbatorix could see properly. The walls were dusty, but he could see that the wood panelling was finely-carved and expensive, and that the fittings were brass. It must have been a magnificent sight once.

'Ah, this was a grand old house once,' Sandor sighed. 'Such a shame it's fallen into this state.'

'Who owns it now?' Galbatorix enquired.

'Well, after Lord and Lady Taranisäii died it got passed onto a cousin of theirs. But he wasn't about to leave his home over in Surda, so he left it to me to keep an eye on. Wasn't much I could do to keep it in good repair, mind. I expect it'll be sold off soon enough. Now, shall I show you around?'

Galbatorix nodded.

'Well, follow me then,' said Sandor.

For the next hour or so he followed the old man around the house, taking it all in. He was shown the banqueting hall, the kitchens, the bedrooms, the servant's quarters and the dank stone room where the slaves had lived.

'Of course this'n didn't get used much,' Sandor explained. 'The Taranisäiis didn't keep much in the way of slaves. Not until young Ingë went and bought herself that cursed elf, anyway.'

'What elf?' Galbatorix asked quickly.

'Ah, I ain't in no mood to talk about that if'n it pleases you, my Lord,' said Sandor. 'But it was that damned slave what brought House Taranis down if'n you can believe that.'

'Oh, I believe you,' Galbatorix said grimly.

As the tour continued, he began to feel slightly disappointed. There was nothing about the house that felt special. It was just a dead, empty old thing with no trace left in it of the people that had once lived there. He couldn't imagine his mother ever having been in this place. It didn't fit with his mental picture of her at all. But, of course, he had almost no idea of what she had been like.

In the end Sandor turned to him and said; 'Well, that's about it, my Lord, unless you'd like to see the crypt.'

Galbatorix paused. 'The crypt?'

'It's under the house,' said Sandor. 'That's where all the Taranisäiis were laid to rest.'

'Show them to me,' Galbatorix commanded.

Sandor nodded. 'Just as you say, my Lord.'

He led the way back down the stairs and into a small stone chamber in which there was nothing but a trapdoor in the middle of the floor. He opened that with some effort, and held the lantern out over the dark space that lay beneath it. 'Down there,' he said. 'We'll have to be careful on the stairs. Here, let me go ahead.'

He stepped down into the darkness, and Galbatorix followed. It was extremely cold in the space beneath the trapdoor. It led, as Sandor had said, to a narrow stone staircase. Galbatorix descended it carefully, following the bobbing light of the caretaker's lantern. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and after a minute or so there was a triumphant mutter from Sandor and a torch spluttered into life. It illuminated a long, low cave cut into the stone, its design stark and simple. The walls were white limestone and sparkled slightly in the torchlight, and set into them at intervals were iron sconces which held more torches. Sandor set about lighting them, and once he had done Galbatorix saw the tombs of his ancestors.

They were placed along the walls, the men on the right hand side and the women on the left. Each tomb was a large stone box, about waist-high, its top decorated with a life-sized carving of its occupant in an attitude of repose, carved eyes staring at the ceiling.

'Here you are,' said Sandor. 'The Taranisäiis. Every one of them. Starting at the end there with old Taranis himself. I'll wait here by the stairs and let you have a look.'

Galbatorix walked along the row of tombs, examining each one, starting with the right-hand side. The statues of the ancient Lords of the House of Taranis were depicted wearing mail and armour, and each one held a shield and a sword in his stone hands. It was unmistakeable from looking at their faces that they were all related. Fathers and sons, uncles, grandfathers, brothers… they had strong jaws and wide foreheads, and their features were clever, a little foxlike, but proud. None of them looked much like him but, he saw, several of them had curly hair.

Right at the end, as Sandor had said, was Taranis himself. Taranis' tomb was very old indeed. The statue on it was worn, the details crumbled away in places, and the name on the side was written in some old script that Galbatorix could neither read nor recognise.

'That was brought here a few centuries ago,' Sandor called from near the exit. 'It used to be in the city where Ilirea is now, but after the Taranisäiis settled here they had it brought in.'

Galbatorix examined the statue of his ancient forebear. Taranis' worn features were handsome in a cold kind of way, but there was a certain ruthlessness about his eyes and the set of his jaw. Galbatorix, looking at that still stone face, wondered what Taranis had been like. Had he really looked like this, or had this been carved long after his death? There was no way of knowing. But, he noticed, the carved sword in Taranis' hand did indeed have a triple spiral design on the blade. He unconsciously touched his own shoulder, where the tattoo prickled slightly. The emblem of the House of Taranis. Once Taranis', and now his.

He turned away to look at the tombs on the left-hand wall. There were as many Lady Taranisäiis as there were Lords, of course. Unlike the men they held books and flowers, but to his surprise he saw that one or two of them were armoured as if for some final battle. Apparently even the women of his family could be warriors. That made him feel a little proud, for some reason.

The last one he came across was his mother's.

Ingë Taranisäii's tomb was closest to the stairs, and the torchlight flickered over the carved face of the last Lady Taranisäii.

Galbatorix stared and stared at it for a long time, as for the first time he beheld his mother's face.

Ingë Taranisäii was young. She had delicate, intelligent features with large eyes, and a mane of curly hair flowed over her shoulders and the stone lid of her tomb. She was clad in a stone gown and wore a stone amulet which depicted the triple-spiral of her house, and in her hands she held… an egg.

'What's this?' said Galbatorix, touching it. 'An egg? Why an egg?'

He was talking half to himself, but Sandor overheard him. 'Ah, there's a bit of a story behind that,' he said.

'It looks like a dragon's egg,' said Galbatorix.

'Said to be, aye,' said Sandor. 'It was a family heirloom. Still is, I suppose. Passed down from Taranis himself. I saw it with my own eyes. A big black stone, polished like marble. Some said it was a real egg an' not just a carving, but it'd been kept for over a thousand years and never hatched. Nobody was quite sure where it'd come from, but it was precious. Lady Ingë had a fascination for it. She kept it in her room and was always picking it up and cradling it like it was a baby. Maybe she thought it'd hatch. She always wanted to be a rider, you know. Wanted to go and be tested, but her parents wouldn't hear of it. Ah, she was a wild one.'

Galbatorix touched the carved egg, a strange sweet sadness tingling in his throat. He was more like his mother than he had realised. She too had wanted to be a rider… 'Where is the egg now?' he enquired.

'It's with the family treasures, in the vault,' said Sandor.

'The vault?'

'It's under us,' said Sandor, tapping his boot on the floor.

Galbatorix looked down. Sure enough, there was a stone slab under their feet, with a visible joint all around it. It stood between his mother's tomb and that of his grandfather, and when he thumped his heel on it it made a hollow sound. 'May I have a look?' he asked.

Sandor paused. 'I don't see why not. But I'll have to go and get a lever to get the slab out with. Wait here a few minutes, and…'

Galbatorix stepped off the slab and raised his hand. '_Reisa_.'

There was a faint grinding sound, and the slab slowly lifted out of its hole in the floor. Galbatorix kept control of it and gently laid it down out of the way.

Sandor gaped at him. 'Well, I never. That was magic, was it?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Shall we have a look inside?'

Without waiting for an answer, he took a torch from the wall and entered.

The vault was surprisingly small. There was nothing in there but a few wooden chests on the floor. He knelt and opened them, one by one. They were full of gold and silver; coins, ingots, bars and jewellery. All the wealth of the House of Taranis.

He had no interest in taking it, even though he considered it his rightful inheritance. Money meant very little to him now, and even if he was interested he had access to the treasury in the castle, which was no doubt overflowing with valuable items.

Disappointed, he opened the last chest and found that this one was different. Instead of treasure, this one held an assortment of strange but very old-looking objects. An ancient goblet with a triple-spiral. A rusted dagger which bore the same design. The broken shard of a sword-blade. A necklace with a stone amulet on it – the same one, he realised with a little start, that his mother had worn. There was a matching ring, and a yellowing roll of parchment, but nestled in the middle of all that was something that took his breath away.

An egg. A huge, perfectly-formed egg. Its shell was strangely lustreless, its colour jet-black with a tracery of white veins. He put the torch aside and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. But it felt exactly the same in his hands as Laela's egg had done so long ago.

He tapped it carefully, and was rewarded with a hollow _ping._ When he put his ear to it, he thought he could hear a faint sound coming from inside. But it only lasted a second, and afterwards he wasn't sure if he'd really heard it. He wondered if it was a real dragon's egg. But it couldn't possibly be. Still, it was a very beautiful and impressive replica of one if it wasn't real. If it _was_ real, then it had to be a dead egg.

He put it down and then picked up the other items – the ring, the amulet, the dagger and the cup. He was curious to see what was written on the parchment, but it was so old that it started to crumble as soon as he tried to unroll it, so he hastily put it down again.

Sandor was waiting outside. 'Are you done in there yet, my Lord?' he called. 'Only it's getting late.'

Galbatorix slipped the amulet and the ring into his pocket. 'I'm done,' he replied, and closed the chest.

When he re-emerged Sandor said; 'Well, you've seen everything now. Hope you enjoyed it.'

'Yes, thankyou, Sandor,' said Galbatorix.

He put the slab back into place with another spell, and Sandor put out the torches and then hustled him away back upstairs and out of the house.

When they reached the open air again, Galbatorix got a little shock when he saw that night was falling. He'd been in the house all afternoon.

Once Sandor had locked the door again, Galbatorix handed him some gold coins. 'Here. That's for your trouble. Thankyou very much for your help, Sandor.'

Sandor's hand closed around the money. 'Pleased to be of service, my Lord! Any time you need me, don't hesitate to ask.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I'll be sure to keep that in mind.'

He'd half-expected to be faced with a dozen frantic people demanding to know where he'd suddenly disappeared to when he got back to the castle, but that didn't happen. Everything had continued to run smoothly in his absence, and his new underlings accepted his return without comment, merely informing him of anything that had happened that he had missed. He was a little surprised, even slightly disappointed. Did he really matter so little in the scheme of things?

But after thinking it over, he realised what it really meant. He was the governor, and a rider. No-one was going to pry into his affairs; they would simply work around him and accept whatever he did without question, because that was their job. If he decided to vanish for an afternoon, then so be it. Nobody here was his equal, except for Laela – no-one was keeping tabs on him, no-one was judging him. He was completely free. And if he wanted to neglect or abuse his duties, he could do that too. He doubted even Vrael would care, assuming he found out about it in the first place. It was a thrilling thought.

After the evening meal, which he ate up on the dragon roost with Laela, he went to the castle library. There were several volumes of legal records in there, and, just as he'd done in Ilirea, he searched through them until he found a page detailing the fate of his parents. His hopes of learning anything new from it were dashed: it turned out that the record was identical to the one he'd read in Ilirea – clearly copies of every record were made and sent there to be preserved.

Galbatorix tore the page out and threw it into the fire.

He sat there and watched it burn, turning the ancient seal ring in his fingers and watching the light play over the triple-spiral design until long after the scrap of paper had turned to ash and crumbled away, as if it had never been. He wasn't sure why he had stolen the ring and the amulet. They wouldn't be of any use to him, so why? Some vague and ridiculous notion of claiming his inheritance?

Laela was listening. _'You have no inheritance,'_ she said gently. _'You know that.'_

Galbatorix sighed. _'I know, Laela, I know. Bastards don't have inheritances.'_

She didn't miss the bitterness in his voice. _'Don't you have enough already? Forget about it, Galbatorix. If you've got any sense then you'll take my advice. Put it aside. Stop trying to find your parents. That's what you're trying to do, you know. They're dead, and there's nothing you can do to bring them back. Move on and worry about your own life. It's what they would have wanted.' _She spoke kindly, but firmly, and he could see the sense in it.

But something about it still stuck in his throat. _'They were my parents,'_ he said. _'How could I forget that?'_

'_And what about your foster parents?'_ said Laela. _'Cardock and Freyja. They were the ones who raised you, and even if they aren't your true parents they still love you. Have you forgotten about them?'_

'_No. Of course I haven't.'_ But as he spoke, he slipped the ring onto his own finger.

'_There's someone else you've forgotten, you know,'_ said Laela.

He didn't understand. He sat there feeling vaguely irritable for a few seconds, and then it came rushing back and his eyes widened. 'Flell! Oh godsdammit…'

He stood up and ran out of the room while Laela laughed at him in his head.

In his office, he cleared a space on the desk and selected a blank piece of parchment. As he was opening a bottle of ink, it occurred to him that he'd never really written a letter before. But it was the only way to reach Flell.

'_What should I say to her?'_ he asked Laela.

He felt his phantom wings rise and fall as Laela shrugged. _'Tell her what you're feeling. Be honest.'_

But he didn't even know how to start it. He made three attempts, but each time it felt either too formal or too flowery and he threw the aborted letter away. What could he possibly say? He had to reassure her somehow, tell her that he still loved her and that he didn't want anything bad to happen to her. But he'd never been terribly good at talking about his feelings.

In the end he simply wrote:

_Flell,_

_How are you? I've been working hard, trying to keep the city running. It's very boring and most of the time all I seem to do is talk to people and sign bits of paper. Not exactly what I was expecting. Maybe I should ask Vrael to give me another assignment. Something military might be a little more exiting. Poor Laela has nothing to do except sleep or fly around the countryside and I haven't had a chance to use my new sword at all. I decided to call it White Violence. _

_What have you been doing? Is your training going well? How long do you think it'll be before you're finished? I can't wait to see you at the next Blood-Oath celebration, when you get your own sword. _

_About what happened the last time we met… I truly am very sorry that I didn't tell you the truth sooner. Ever since I found out I was a half-breed, it's been a torment for me. Sometimes I feel trapped by what I am, because there's nothing I can do about it and everyone who has ever found out about it has hated me for it. Flell, if you did the same, I couldn't bear it. Please, find it in yourself to accept me for what I am. Does my blood make me any less of a person? I'm still human, and I still love you._

_I miss you and I want to see you again. _

_Yours, Galbatorix Taranisäii_

_PS: I'm enclosing a small keepsake for you to remember me by._

He read over it carefully several times. It felt hopelessly inadequate, and he wasn't sure if signing it with his real name was a good idea. But his secret was out in the open now, and there wasn't much point in trying to edge around it by pretending to be Arren Cardockson. It already made him feel like an impostor whenever someone called him that. And although he loved Flell, if they were going to stay together then she would have to accept him for what he truly was, along with his real name. And no-one else would see the letter…

He sighed and picked up a paperknife. It wasn't very sharp, but he used it to cut off a lock of his hair. He bound the little black curl together with a loose thread from his tunic, folded it up with the letter and sealed the whole thing shut with a blob of wax. For a wild moment he considered stamping the seal of House Taranis into it, but common sense prevailed and he used the official rider's seal ring instead. He scribbled Flell's name onto the outside, and added the letter to the heap of outgoing mail bound for Ilirea. It would reach her in a few days.

Over the next five months, he continued to govern the city as best he could. He attended meetings, gave orders, organised, directed, presided over the law courts… did a leader's work.

He quickly got a reputation for being an intelligent and efficient ruler, with a quick mind and a dedication to his work. There were no more semi-secret excursions into the city. He stayed in the castle and worked from dawn until dusk, burying the restless youth beneath a mountain of duties and responsibilities. It wasn't long before those around him stopped seeing him as an arrogant young lord who they were obliged to obey simply because he was a rider and begin seeing him as… well, as the city governor, one who worked tirelessly and kept things in order, who was always approachable and would listen to complaints and suggestions without showing any sign of boredom or impatience. His only real eccentricity was his insistence on having all his meals brought up to the dragon roost so he could spend time with his dragon. On the rare occasions when he had nothing to do, he would spend time flying over the surrounding countryside with his dragon, keeping an eye on the people he was responsible for.

But he did other things that were thought of as a little odd. For one thing, when someone politely told him that he was in need of a new pair of boots, he immediately sent out an order for some leather and tools and proceeded to make them himself. Several officials, coming into the audience chamber or his office to speak with him, found him in there with an awl or a leather-knife, cutting and shaping the pieces of thick hide, and later stitching them together with an oversized needle. He didn't use magic and refused all help, claiming that the work helped him to think. When he was finished, those around him were surprised to see that the completed boots were stout and well-made, and fitted him perfectly. When someone remarked upon it, all he said was; 'No-one starts out as a rider. I learnt another trade first.'

It was hardly the sort of behaviour anyone would expect from one of the riders, who were looked upon almost as demi-gods, but it helped to make people feel slightly less intimidated by him, which was just as well, given that his unreadability and general aura of darkness and mystery tended to unnerve people who didn't know him well.

Another odd thing he did involved the law. He placed a lot of emphasis on legal matters and preferred to pass important judgements in person. Whenever that happened he would insist on talking to the accused himself, and he would hear them speak with an intent look that suggested he was really listening. Unlike any of the other riders who had taken command in the city, he acted as if he truly cared about what criminals had to say and didn't dismiss anything they said as lies. And he acted on it, too, sometimes earning him respect and sometimes making people angry. On more than one occasion he gave people pardons or light sentences if they did something to convince him they deserved mercy. For example, when a man accused of selling smuggled goods tearfully claimed that he had only done so because his family desperately needed the money, instead of having him branded Galbatorix confiscated the goods and sent him home with a warning that if he repeated the offence he would be severely punished. Another occasion was more shocking. A slave was brought in on a charge of having attempted to break the laws binding his kind – namely, he had made an advance on his mistress.

The response to that would normally have been straightforward. In fact the slave's fate was considered sealed to the point that the official in charge came very close to simply having him put to death without a trial. But Galbatorix found out about it and insisted on giving the slave a fair trial. And, ignoring the calls for him to send the man to the chopping block, he ordered everyone out of the room and spoke to him alone. Afterwards he proceeded to shock everyone by setting the slave free and having him sent back to his home country, but not before giving him a sum of money to help him purchase a new home.

Afterwards, apparently oblivious to the outcry from the slave traders, he gave a command for the buying and selling of slaves to be abolished, and ordered every slave set free immediately. And in spite of the outrage this was met with, it was what happened. No-one dared to resist. Not when the command had been given by a rider. When some officials and minor nobles went to Galbatorix and demanded to know if he had asked permission from Ilirea, he coldly told them that he was lord of Teirm now and that as far as he was concerned they would do what he told them to and nothing else – unless they wanted to be charged with treason. They had to be content with that. The former slave traders were given compensation and then granted state support until they could find new professions for themselves, and the city was abuzz over it for days.

It was a major triumph for Galbatorix. And, he noted, along with the anger there was a great deal of approval as well. Plenty of people disliked the slave trade, and now he had put a stop to it they had begun calling him a liberator and a hero. This new rider was different. He didn't shut himself away; he cared about the people he had power over, and he didn't act like an elf. He was not arrogant or aloof, he was not afraid to laugh or admit a mistake, he turned a blind eye to the various underground religions that flourished in the city, and his ears weren't pointed. And if someone came to the castle with a complaint or a request of some sort, as often as not he would let them in and talk to them.

And all the while, as Galbatorix threw himself into his work, he was waiting for a letter from Flell, waiting for her to contact him and let him know that she was all right.

But it never came.

One day, five months after his arrival in Teirm, he woke up feeling slightly excited. Today was a special day.

While he combed his hair, he reached out for Laela. _'Good morning, Laela.'_

He felt her drowsiness, and then she answered. _'Good morning. Why so cheerful?'_

Galbatorix smiled to himself. _'Do you know what today is, Laela?'_

'_No, what?'_

'_Today is my nineteenth birthday.'_

'_Oh!'_ said Laela, sharing a feeling of pleased surprise. _'I suppose you'll have a feast, then?'_

'_No. Nobody else knows. I couldn't really see the point in mentioning it. No-one in the castle will care. They'll just pretend to care.'_

'_Well, are you at least going to take the day off?'_

Galbatorix put the comb aside and picked up a brush. _'Certainly not. Far too much to do.'_

'_On your _birthday?_'_

'_It's no different than any other day, really. Anyway, I'm due in court. And there's those treasury reports to write; I've got to have them finished by tomorrow…'_

Laela chuckled. _'You've changed. Whatever happened to the boy who couldn't be bothered to make anything to show the elves?'_

'_That was different. That was just elvish nonsense. This matters.'_

'_That's something the old Galbatorix wouldn't have said,'_ said Laela. _'You've turned into a leader.'_

'_You mean I've turned into everyone's errand boy. What are you going to do today?'_

'_Not much. Fly along the coast for a while. You know, I keep wondering what's on the other side of the sea. I'd like to try and fly over it some day, see what's there.'_

Galbatorix picked out a new tunic to wear. _'So would I.'_ He sighed. _'That's the downside of being a rider. You've got the power, but there's no chance to have any _fun_ with it. Well, have fun. I'll see you tonight.'_

'_Are you sure you can't come with me?'_

'_I'm sorry, Laela.'_

'_Well, all right.' _She was silent for a time, and he thought she'd gone, but then he heard her voice again. _'Oh… Galbatorix?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_Happy birthday.'_

Then she was gone. Suddenly feeling lonely, Galbatorix finished dressing and left the room. After breakfast he indulged himself by spending an hour in the practise yard, practising swordplay. It was a good way to relax, and he didn't want to risk getting out of shape, even if he had to spend the next couple of years staying put in Teirm.

Afterwards, it was time to go to work. He checked the letters that had come from Ilirea, but none of them were from Flell. With a heavy heart, he started work on the treasury report. After lunch it was time to go to court and pass judgement on a number of criminals who had been caught selling Whiteleaf, which was an illegal drug. He fined three of them and sentenced two others to fifty lashes apiece, then returned to the castle for a meeting with some officials.

That afternoon, as he was in his office putting the finishing touches on the treasury report, he was interrupted by a servant who knocked on the door. Galbatorix told him to enter. The servant stood politely in front of the desk and said; 'My Lord. I'm sorry for the interruption.'

Galbatorix put his pen back into its holder. 'Go on.'

'Well, there's a couple of people downstairs asking to see you,' said the servant. 'They're claiming to be your parents.'

Galbatorix paused over that. He hadn't seen his foster parents since the day he had first left for Ellesméra, a long time ago. He sighed and picked up his pen again. 'Give them my apologies and tell them I'm too busy to see them right now.'

'Yes, my Lord.' The servant departed.


	17. Recalled

Chapter Seventeen

Recalled

Cardock was in a foul temper. He slammed the door of his home shut and threw himself into a chair. '"Too busy"?' he exclaimed. 'Too _busy?_ Too busy to see us? My gods, I'd tan that boy's hide if I had the chance.'

Freyja was nearly in tears. She sat down by the fire, her expression miserable. 'Well, I suppose he's got a lot on his plate right now…'

'On his _birthday?'_ said Cardock. He sighed, his anger fading a little. 'We haven't seen him in so long… he didn't even come and visit when he got back here. Has he forgotten we exist?'

'No, Cardock, don't be silly,' said Freyja. 'He's just… oh, I miss him so much…'

'It's all that "Galbatorix" nonsense is what it is,' Cardock declared. 'He's taken it into his head that he's someone other than what we raised him to be. No, we're not his birth parents an' whatever, but we're the ones who took him in, aren't we? We were parents to him, we treated him like our son. And he just goes and does this to us. I know he's a rider an' all, but that's no reason to go around actin' like a snot.'

'He probably didn't mean it,' said Freyja. 'He's… I just wanted to tell him how proud I am of him. All the good things he's done. At least we know we raised him properly.'

'I'm going to go back up there tomorrow and give him a piece of my mind,' said Cardock. 'He might be a lord now, but that doesn't mean I've stopped being his father.'

Freyja glanced around the little room. There was a pot of stew bubbling over the fire, and an apple pie on the table with a pitcher of cream. 'I suppose a meal at home would have been too embarrassing for him,' she said. 'But I worked so hard to have it all ready for him…'

There was a knock on the door. Cardock got up, cursing, and opened it. On the other side was a tall, menacing shape, its face covered by a hood.

'Who the hell are you?' said Cardock, automatically reaching for the knife in his belt.

The stranger glanced around quickly, then took off its hood.

Cardock's mouth fell open. 'What the-?'

It was Galbatorix, looking slightly nervous. 'Uh… can I come in? I don't want anyone to see me.'

Cardock's face split into a great grin. He stood aside and Galbatorix entered, and he noticed that his foster son now had to duck slightly to get in through the door. He stood in the middle of the room, looking a little out of place in his fine black clothes, and said; 'I'm terribly sorry about the – oof!'

Freyja had flung herself on her adopted son with a cry of joy. She hugged him tightly. 'I knew it!' she said. 'I _knew_ you hadn't forgotten!'

Galbatorix hugged her back. 'Of course I didn't,' he said. 'I might be a rider, but I still have parents, and I didn't want to spend my birthday alone.'

Cardock closed the door and clapped him on the back. 'It's good to see you again, lad. Forgive me for thinking you'd forgotten about us. Go on, sit down and have a bite to eat.'

Galbatorix sat on his old stool at the table, his long legs folded a little awkwardly under the table, suddenly feeling like a boy again. 'You made a pie for me,' he said, seeing it.

Freyja was already putting the stew into bowls. 'Of course I did, you silly boy. It's your favourite, isn't it? Now, eat up and tell us all about what you've been doing.'

The three of them sat together around the table and ate. The taste of Freyja's stew, the sound of hers and Cardock's voices, the feeling of being in this little house again… it brought a hundred memories flooding back, along with a warm and wonderful ache in his heart. After everything that had happened he had nearly forgotten about his old life, but now he was back here it was as if he'd never left.

'So tell us,' said Cardock. 'Why'd you send us away like that? Your mother was nearly in tears.'

Galbatorix winced. 'I'm sorry, Father. But I actually _was_ right in the middle of something. Vrael'd sent me three messages demanding to have the treasury report done by the end of the month, and… well, if I'd come here with you everyone would have seen me; it was still broad daylight. I had to come down here in secret.'

'But why?' said Freyja.

Galbatorix put down his spoon. 'Are you joking? I can't go anywhere in public without being harassed by every idiot who sees me. It's a bloody nightmare. _Everyone _wants something. It's like they think I'm some divine wellspring that knows the answers to all their problems. It was amusing the first few times, but now…' he rolled his eyes.

Freyja nodded. 'Well, I can understand that. It must have been a nuisance getting here.'

'It wasn't a problem,' said Galbatorix, shrugging. 'I knew I couldn't just ignore you.'

'It's good to have you back here, Arren,' said Cardock. 'We've missed you. Everyone down the marketplace wanted to know where you'd gone, an' when I told 'em you'd become a rider they didn't believe me.'

'What, people actually cared?' said Galbatorix, genuinely surprised. 'About _me?_ The bastard half-breed?'

'Oh, that's died down now,' said Cardock. 'Most people didn't really believe it; it was just a wild rumour. Some of 'em asked me about it and I lied. Said you'd been born the year after that whole… thing with your parents and someone'd just made the story up.'

Galbatorix felt warm with relief. 'That's good. I've been… sometimes I wish I didn't know about it either. I keep feeling afraid that someone else is going to find out. If Vrael found out, or one of the other elders… I don't know what they might do to me.'

'Why would they care?' said Cardock.

'Well, they're very… dogmatic.' He sighed and changed the subject. 'It's good to be home. I didn't realise how much I'd missed it. Laela would have wanted to come too, but she's not back yet, and besides…'

'Laela?' said Cardock. 'Who's that? Found yourself a girl, have you?'

'What? Oh, no, Laela's my dragon. But I _did _find someone, you know.'

'That's wonderful,' said Freyja. 'Who? What's her name? What's she like? Is she in the city?'

Galbatorix sighed. 'She's in Ilirea,' he said. 'I thought… well, I thought I was in love, but now I'm not so sure.'

'Had a lover's tiff, did you?' Cardock said wisely.

'Not quite. It's just that… she hasn't written to me for months, and I haven't seen her since I first came here. She was very upset with me last time we met.'

Freyja touched his hand. 'Tell us about it. You'll feel better.'

Galbatorix hesitated. 'Well, I'm not sure…'

'Go on,' said Cardock. 'You can't expect your troubles to go away if you keep them to yourself.'

'I suppose…' and before he knew it, he was telling them everything.

He told them about his trip to Ilirea, the hatching of Laela's egg, his training there, the accident with the tree… everything. And most of all, he told them about Flell. How they had met, his growing interest in her, their flirtations and talks, and finally their tryst after the Blood Oath celebration, which he alluded to without being overly specific, but with some embarrassment. They listened sympathetically, and he told them about his training and the second Blood Oath celebration, and Flell's confession.

'And she said she wanted me to marry her so I could help her raise the child,' he said, staring into his empty bowl. 'And I would've done it,' he added, looking up at them. 'I would've preferred to wait a few years, until I was older, but I knew I couldn't just leave her. Not after that.'

Freyja shook her head. 'Silly girl. She should have known better. Going with a man without taking precautions… what did she think was going to happen? Didn't you remind her?'

'I mentioned it to her a few times,' Galbatorix said wretchedly. 'I thought she was taking care of it, but women don't like to talk about these things directly. But I couldn't marry Flell without telling her the truth. So I did. I told her about what I am.' He gave his foster parents an imploring look. 'Did I do the right thing? I mean, it felt like the right thing to do, but I'm not sure…'

'You did what was right,' Cardock said firmly. 'It mightn't have been easy, but it was right.'

Freyja agreed. 'You'll get nowhere in life if you lie to the people you love. But what did Flell do?'

'She-,' Galbatorix hesitated. 'She wasn't happy,' he said at last. 'She was upset, disbelieving… I pleaded with her, tried to get her to understand, but I just don't know… she avoided me after that and I didn't see her again. She went back to Ilirea without seeing me, and I had to come here. I never got the chance to see her. I would have asked Vrael to let her come here with me, but he was gone too… I wrote her a letter, but she never answered.'

Cardock and Freyja exchanged glances.

'If she did that, then she's not worthy of you,' was Cardock's opinion. 'Honestly. Unless she can accept you for what you are, then it'll never work.'

'But what about the child?' said Galbatorix. '_My_ child?'

Cardock snorted. 'It's her own fault she's in that situation. It'd serve her right if you just left her to deal with it on her own.'

'No!' said Freyja. 'She made a mistake, but that's no reason to leave her in the lurch. She probably still cares for you, Arren. You should seek her out and offer her any help you can. At least explain to her that you told her the truth because you care about her.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I'll do that,' he said, feeling inexplicably relieved. It was good, he realised, to have someone to confide in like this. He had Laela, of course, but for all that she loved and understood him she had little understanding of human matters. It was a sharp reminder of how isolated he really was in the castle. There were plenty of other people living there with him, but none of them knew _him_. They took orders from him, but they neither knew nor cared about him as a person.

'So what else have you been doing?' said Cardock, getting up and gathering the empty stew-bowls. 'Tell us about this training of yours. I _still_ can't believe you actually became a rider, you know. I thought you'd lost your mind when you up and went to the castle for testing, but looks like the boot's on the other foot now. And speaking of boots…' he glanced downward, and smiled. 'You made them yourself, didn't you?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'The riders taught me how to use a sword and work magic, but only you taught me how to make a good pair of boots. With all the things I have to do every day, doing a little leather-work helps keep me together. And no-one else seems to be able to make them how I like them.' He shrugged and smiled, a little bashfully. 'Silly, I suppose.'

'Not at all,' Cardock said firmly. 'If a man doesn't know how to work with his hands… well then he ain't worth much.'

Galbatorix stifled a laugh. 'You just described every single one of the riders I know.'

Freyja chuckled, but Cardock, returning to the table, said; 'Well, that's the truth of it if you ask me. Them riders keeps themselves shut away all the time, acts like we don't exist except to do what they say… they don't care a fig for common folk like your mother and me.'

'Cardock! Don't say things like that!' said Freyja, shocked.

But Galbatorix nodded. 'I agree.'

'Thought you probably would,' said Cardock. 'I could tell from the way you've been running things here. Letting people into the castle, going to the court-house like that, just _listening_ to people. That's something none of the other governors have ever done. I'm proud of you, lad. You might be a rider now, but you've still got your feet on the ground and your head outa the clouds.'

'So you think I've been doing the right thing?' Galbatorix blurted. 'I mean, with freeing the slaves and everything… Laela and I argued over it for hours and even though we agreed in the end I've been thinking about it all the time…'

'Of course you have,' said Freyja. 'We both agree on that even if we can't agree on anything else.' She glanced affectionately at her husband, and went on; 'You're the best governor the city's ever had. Everyone I know thinks so. Why, just the other day old Eirn – remember her? – just the other day she said to me, "I don't know how you did it, Freyja, but that's one fine boy you raised there and one fine governor as well". And we all know how _she_ goes on about the government and whathaveyou.'

Galbatorix grinned, the expression making him look much younger. 'Really?'

'Definitely,' said Cardock, in a firm voice that settled the matter.

That cheered him up a lot. 'I've been doing my best. I keep wondering if Vrael's found out about it yet and if he's going to yell at me or not… but enough about me, what about you? What've you been doing all this time?'

And so they talked on. Cardock told him about the doings of everyone in the marketplace, and how he'd kept his own stall running in spite of a couple of minor setbacks, Freyja talked about her friends and neighbours, and Galbatorix told stories about his misadventures with Laela. He showed them the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm, which they looked at in wonder, along with his sword, which he'd brought with him, and the ring and the amulet from the vault of House Taranis, relating the story of how he'd come to have them. Freyja disapproved of that. 'That was stealing, you know.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'No-one owns them now. The House of Taranis is dead. And I am technically the last surviving direct descendant, so… well, I suppose I felt I was owed them. And they're just trifles anyway.'

And so the evening went on. They ate thick slices of apple pie with cream, along with a dish of sugared nuts (something very expensive in Teirm), and afterwards they retired to the fireside for a cup of spiced wine which Cardock had been saving especially. Galbatorix hadn't enjoyed himself so much in a long time. At long last he was with people who loved him unconditionally and treated him as their equal, and there were no uneasy secrets between them, nothing to hide and nothing to fear. He could sit back and relax and talk freely, and forget about all his cares and responsibilities.

Later, he would look upon it as the last truly happy day of his life.

Freyja and Cardock had a birthday present for him.

'It's not much,' Freyja said apologetically. 'But your father carved it himself.'

Galbatorix took off the paper it was wrapped in. It was a comb, finely carved from a single piece of wood, decorated with a pattern of dragons. He laughed when he saw it.

'Well, you're always combing your hair,' said Cardock, trying to sound disapproving but failing. 'I figured it'd be useful to you.'

'Well, hair like this tangles easily,' said Galbatorix, mock-indignantly. 'Especially now I've grown it out.'

'So do you like it?' said Freyja.

He hugged her. 'I love it. I'll carry it around in my pocket no matter where I go.'

There was a faint rumbling from outside. Galbatorix glanced up at the window in time to see lightning flash in the sky. 'Looks like a storm,' he said.

Cardock yawned and stretched. 'Well, we could certainly do with some rain…'

Thunder crashed again, and rain began to drum on the roof. Galbatorix stood up. 'I'm a little worried about Laela,' he said, going to the window to look out. 'She shouldn't be flying in a storm…' he opened the window and poked his head out. It was raining quite heavily. There was a half-moon in the sky, only just visible as a brief glow behind the clouds, and he could see the heart of the storm – a great dark mass of clouds, edged with lightning, hanging over the sea. He reached out automatically for Laela with his mind, but she wasn't there. He could still feel her presence in the back of his mind, but she was too far away to hear his mental voice. He started to feel a little worried.

'There's one hell of a storm building just out to sea,' he reported, withdrawing and closing the window. 'I don't like it…'

'Why, where's your dragon?' said Freyja.

'She went out flying this morning. Said she was going to follow the coast. If she gets caught in that… well, the winds in a storm are very dangerous, and that's without the lightning. A dragon can't fly in a storm. It's suicidal to even try it. I've heard stories. Dragons who went flying in bad weather… some of them were battered against cliffs or dragged out to sea, or were struck by lightning…'

'Calm down,' said Cardock. 'I'm sure she's fine. Here, sit down and have another cup of wine.'

Galbatorix sat. 'She'll be all right,' he said, as much to reassure himself as for any other reason. 'She's not an idiot.'

And then, quite suddenly, pain went ripping through him. He cried out, dropping his cup and spilling wine all over the floor. A fraction of a second later, the pain hit him again. He doubled over, gasping, clutching at his stomach. Freyja and Carnoc were there at once, all concern.

'Arren, what's wrong?' said Freyja, taking hold of his shoulder.

'Something's hurting me,' Galbatorix said, trying to stand up. 'But I think – _oh!_' he crumpled to the ground, hitting it hard, and began to thrash about on the floor, yelling as the pain thudded into him, as if he were being savagely beaten. He tried instinctively to cover his head and stomach, even though no-one was attacking him, and his parents saw him start to jerk and twitch, like a dying animal. They crouched by him, trying to hold him still, calling his name, both horrified and bewildered. He finally relaxed and lay there on the floor, his breathing ragged and shallow.

'Arren, what is it?' Cardock demanded. 'What's happening to you?'

Galbatorix made an attempt to get up, but slumped back down. 'Laela,' he rasped. 'It's Laela. Something's happening to her. I – _aah!_ Oh gods, it hurts…' he rolled onto his side and curled up, shuddering as fresh pains bit into him. 'She's dying. Oh, gods, Laela, no, no, no…' his voice trailed off, and he began to sob with fear.

Freyja, tormented by a terrible sense of helplessness, lifted him in her arms and cradled him against her chest. His face had gone deathly white, and his eyes looked bigger, as if his pain and terror were causing him to age backward.

'It's all right,' Freyja whispered, holding onto him. 'Just lie still…'

He clasped her hand, and she could feel him trembling. 'Mama, I'm scared,' he said, his voice a child's. He closed his eyes and convulsed once again as the unseen pain assaulted him yet again.

Freyja glanced up at Cardock. 'We have to get help,' she said.

He hesitated. 'But who?'

Freyja didn't know. The two of them stayed with their adopted son and tried their best to comfort him, but as he screamed and twitched and cried out Laela's name they both began to feel very real fear. There were no visible wounds, nothing they could see physically tormenting him, but the way he moved, the sounds he made… they were the signs of a man in mortal agony. A man who was dying.

But after several terrible minutes the pain seemed to cease, and he finally stilled, his breathing becoming more peaceful. For a few seconds he lay there, apparently unconscious, but then his eyes opened.

Cardock touched hi shoulder. 'Arren, are you all right? For the love of gods, say something!'

Galbatorix looked at him. There was a curious blankness about his stare, as if there was no-one living behind his eyes, but then he surprised both of them by suddenly standing up, his motions as steady and strong as if nothing at all had happened to him. He patted himself down, apparently checking for injuries, and then strode toward the door. 'Laela's hurt,' he said. 'I have to go to her.'

Freyja and Cardock hurried after him. 'Arren, sit down, for pity's sake,' Cardock said, reaching out to stop him. 'You've got to rest, I mean, after that…'

Galbatorix took his cloak down from its hook and put it on. 'No,' he said, with a note of stern command in his voice that hadn't been there before. 'I'm fine. I have to go to her, _now.'_

'But you don't know where she is,' said Freyja.

'She's down by the shore,' said Galbatorix. He picked up his sword and ran out of the house.

Freyja and Cardock followed him. The instant he was outside, Galbatorix broke into a sprint, running off down the street at breakneck speed, heedless of anything that might be in his way. His foster parents followed him as fast as they could.

And Galbatorix ran. He ran as he had never run before, not even pausing to strap his sword to his back. He slung it awkwardly over his shoulder, where it thumped against his back with each stride, and ran as he had never run before, through the darkened streets of Teirm, the rain lashing against his face, lightning splitting the sky, again and again while the tempest tore the heavens apart.

He could feel himself aching savagely all over from the pain of Laela's wounds. Phantom blood was flowing down his back and sides, hot and sticky, filling his mouth with its vital, metallic tang. He could feel her in his head, crying out for him, again and again, her voice an animal scream of sheer terror. She was dying. He could feel the life slowly draining out of her with every step he took.

And so he ran. He ran until he reached the harbourside, where boats bobbed at their ports, great black shadows in the darkness. The storm was very close now. The sea was churning with its violence, and wind howled in over the bay, unimpeded by hills or mountains. The rain had stopped abruptly, and the wind tugged at his hair, blowing it back over his heaving shoulders so that it wrapped around White Violence's hilt.

He stopped for a few seconds, right at the end of the street which led to the waterside, then began to run along the docks, passing endless rows of fishing boats until he reached the spot where a group of large trading ships were moored.

And that was where he found her, lying half in and half out of the water, her head and forequarters collapsed over a broken jetty.

He sprinted toward her, ignoring the splintered and breaking wood under his feet, and at long last he was beside her, crouching to touch her head so that she would know he was there.

One of Laela's wings was draped over the jetty. The other trailed in the water, blood running down over its silver membrane to turn the surf red. He could see the source of the terrible pain that had racked him straight away. Laela's flanks were covered in deep gashes that had torn right through her scales. There were more on her neck as well, and one of her forelegs was badly mangled. Her eyes were closed.

Galbatorix patted her face frantically, probing at her mind and trying to make mental contact with her. _'Laela? Laela! For the gods' sakes, speak to me!'_

Laela opened her eyes and looked up at him, and a great sigh went through her body. _'Galbatorix,'_ she murmured. _'There you are… did I… hurt you?'_

'_I'm fine,'_ said Galbatorix. _'What happened to you? How badly are you hurt?'_

Laela blinked. _'I think…'_ her mental voice was vague and dreamy, even peaceful. _'Think I… lost a lost of blood… it doesn't hurt so much now… nearly didn't… make it back.'_

Galbatorix didn't waste another minute. He spread his hands over the deep cuts on her neck and healed them with a spell. He turned his attention to her foreleg next; it took considerable time and effort, but after a few minutes of intense concentration and a large chunk of his energy restored it. He couldn't get at the rest of her injuries, so he made mental contact with her again, saying; _'Laela, you have to get up. You have to get out of the water if I'm going to heal you.'_

She didn't seem to hear him. She groaned and mumbled, shifting slightly, but her eyes were closed. Touching her mind with his, he could sense her weakness and confusion. She had lost too much blood, and her strength was almost gone. If he didn't heal her soon, she would die.

He stood there, frozen in indecision, not knowing what to do, his mind full of a ghastly possibility. What if Laela died?

He could remember Vrael's words then, all too easily. _To be a rider and to have your dragon die is a loss more profound than anyone can imagine until they have experienced it. It means losing more than your closest friend. Losing your dragon means losing half your heart; your protection, your certainty, your sanctuary. It leaves you more alone than you could possibly imagine._

He closed his eyes. 'No,' he whispered. 'No!'

He knelt beside her and lifted her head into his arms with a fresh burst of strength. Throwing caution to the winds, he entered her mind and wrapped himself around it, feeding his own fear and desperation into her, giving her a sense of urgency to make her fight back against her weakness.

Laela's eyes opened. Her mouth opened and she breathed in deeply, and her front legs began to scrabble at the jetty's broken planks. Galbatorix urged her on wordlessly, and she raised herself on her forelegs and then slid gently into the water. Galbatorix dumped his sword on the jetty and dived in without waiting to take off his tunic. He surfaced, gasping for air, and guided Laela toward the shore, swimming by her head and holding onto one of her horns so that she wouldn't lose touch with him. He could feel her lassitude and pain dragging her back, but she steeled herself and swam slowly but steadily forward until the water became shallow enough for her to stand. Freyja and Cardock had arrived by now, and they dashed into the shallows and helped Galbatorix to show Laela the way. She stood up, her legs buckling but still able to hold her up, and dragged herself up and out of the water, blood-tinged water running down her flanks. She made it up onto the shore, and there she fell heavily onto her stomach.

People from the nearby houses, having heard all the noise, came running to see what was going on.

They found a great white dragon lying wounded on the stony beach by a broken jetty. The city governor was standing by her, wet and shivering, casting healing spells over the injuries on his partner's flanks and belly, all his attention on her. The people gathered around to watch, all talking at once but none daring to go too close.

Galbatorix could feel the energy draining out of him with each healing, but he ignored it. He didn't care if he ended up in a coma again; all he cared about was Laela. He could feel her pain lessening as each wound closed, and it spurred him on. As his own strength lessened, hers increased – when he had healed every injury that he could see she opened her eyes and said; _'Galbatorix? Where am I?'_ with a new strength and certainty in her voice.

Galbatorix stroked her head. _'You're in Teirm, at the docks. Roll over; I need to deal with the wounds on your underside.'_

Laela obeyed, albeit slowly and clumsily. Her chest and stomach had more slashes in them, but Galbatorix knew the danger was over. She was going to live. He healed the deeper ones but left those that were smaller and less dangerous. _'There,'_ he said once he was done, shuddering from exhaustion and taking hold of her leg to stop himself falling over. _'I'm done. I'll heal the rest of it later… when I'm…'_ he blinked and sat down sharply, clutching at his head.

Cardock and Freyja were with him at once. 'Are you all right?' said Cardock.

Galbatorix slumped forward slightly, but pulled himself upright again. 'I feel dizzy,' he said. 'Could you… could someone get my sword, please?'

Freyja hurried away and returned with the weapon. He took it and stood up with some help. Laela rolled onto her belly and picked herself up, shaking her wings. _'Oh,'_ she sighed. _'I feel terrible.'_

Galbatorix went to her, touching her flank. _'Are you all right?'_ he asked. _'Gods, Laela, what happened?'_

Laela shared a feeling of bewilderment and fear. _'I was attacked,'_ she said. _'By another dragon.'_

Galbatorix swore. _'Who? Who was it? Was it a wild dragon?'_

'_I don't know…'_ she showed him the memory.

He saw her flying over the sea, following the coast. It was dark, and the stars were coming out. Lightning was flashing on the horizon, but she was unafraid.

And then…

Galbatorix cringed.

'_He just appeared out of nowhere and attacked me,'_ said Laela, shuddering. _'I don't know where he came from, but it was near Narda. He was shouting things at me, terrible things… calling me a traitor and an oathbreaker…'_

Galbatorix shivered as the mental images moved through his brain. _'But who would _do_ something like that? It can't have been a rider's dragon, but why would a wild dragon do that?'_

'_Some wild dragons don't like the riders,'_ said Laela. _'But… but…'_ she was quivering with fright.

'Come on,' Galbatorix said out loud. 'We've got to get you back to the castle. You need to rest. That was a very near miss you had.'

Laela nodded briefly and began climbing slowly up the beach. Galbatorix walked beside her head, moving slowly and wearily but ignoring his own fatigue. People began to crowd around him, their voices full of concern.

'My Lord, what happened? Are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help?'

'Move back, you idiots! For the love of gods, give them some air!'

'My Lord, what can I do to help you?'

Galbatorix looked around at the sympathetic faces, with an odd feeling of relief. 'My dragon is hurt,' he said. 'I have to get her back to the castle. Help us.'

And they did. A dozen people gathered around and began to help Laela climb the slope up toward the city, pushing at her hindquarters as hard as they could. With their concerted efforts behind her, the white dragon made it back up into the city, and the slow and painful journey toward the castle began. But the people helped. They followed her through the streets, some shouting encouragement. Others ran ahead to make sure the way was clear for her. Galbatorix walked by Laela's side, his hand on her shoulder. Freyja and Cardock were with him, helping him whenever he stumbled, and a strange little procession made its way back to the castle.

Several people went ahead to inform the castle's occupants of what was going on, and by the time Laela arrived, her flanks heaving from her exertions, the gates had been flung open and more people had gathered.

Laela stopped there to rest, while Galbatorix turned to his foster parents. 'I have to go now,' he said. 'She needs me.'

'I understand,' said Cardock. He hesitated a moment, then engulfed his adopted son in a tight hug. 'You scared me there, you know,' he muttered.

Once he had let go, Freyja hugged him as well. 'You've grown into a fine man, Arren,' she said. 'I'm proud of you.'

'Thankyou,' said Galbatorix. 'I… thankyou. Both of you. I'll come back and see you again, all right?'

Cardock nodded. 'Take care of yourself.'

Galbatorix smiled. 'I will, Father. I promise.'

He turned away to help Laela through the castle gates and into the courtyard beyond. Cardock and Freyja watched him go, not knowing that neither of them would ever see their foster son again.

Galbatorix slept that night up on the dragon roost by Laela's side, just as he had done in Ellesméra so long ago. Boy and dragon slept soundly, both dangerously exhausted from their brush with death. Their shared dreams were troubled and ominous.

Galbatorix saw people. The faces of everyone he knew drifted past him in the dark, all murmuring and whispering together. Laela. Freyja and Cardock. Flell. Carina. Vrael. Leaf. Nöst. Thornessa. Queen Islanzadí. Morzan. Brom. So many people. And then he saw them dead. Brom, frozen in ice. Morzan, impaled on a beam of silver light. Flell, her heart torn out and burnt. Carina and Leaf, ageing and shrivelling away before his eyes. Vrael curled up and screaming, pleading for mercy before he was torn apart by merciless claws. His foster parents, crushed to death by a black tide that rolled in from all sides. Everyone dead, one by one, their last screams echoing in his head. He saw the stars fall and the seas boil, he saw burning winds turn the trees and the mountains to ash. He saw cities thrown down and turned to rubble while blood rained from the sky and red lightning struck the ground, again and again.

He woke up sweating. It was dawn, and he turned over and went back to sleep, the dream fading away to be replaced by another.

He saw someone. A small figure, running, its black curls flying. For a few moments he thought it was him, but it turned toward him and he saw that it was a girl. Small and slim, but already tall for her age. Her face was delicate and beautiful, but she had glittering black eyes and a terrible, fathomless stare. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and a strange cold fear ran through him like icy water.

Fear showed on the girl's face. She reached toward him pleadingly, seeking his help, mouthing some words, some entreaty for him to save her. He reached back, trying to take her hands, but he was too far away. The gap between them lengthened, even though he ran toward her, and he saw her fall into darkness, crying out his name.

And then it was not her who was falling, but him. Down and down, through a freezing void, wind rushing past his ears, tearing at him.

He hit the ground with a thud that shook the world to its very foundations, and destroyed him utterly.

'_Galbatorix?'_ something nudged him in the shoulder. _'Galbatorix, wake up!'_

Galbatorix opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Laela looking down at him. _'Oh, thank goodness,'_ her voice said in his head. _'I thought you'd died or something.'_

Galbatorix groaned and mumbled. He was freezing cold from head to toe, and his head ached fiercely. Laela nudged him again with her snout, saying; _'Come on, get up. Now!'_

He sat up, but his limbs were stiff and sore and didn't want to move. As he lifted his head from the ground, there was a strange crackling sound and he felt his hair come unstuck from the stone underneath it.

'What the-?'

The blankets that had covered him were stiff with frost. His hair was full of ice, and more ice coated the stonework of the dragon roost.

'_There was a cold snap during the night,'_ said Laela. She, at least, looked fine, although the gashes on her stomach that he hadn't been able to heal looked a lot more unpleasant in the daylight. _'You nearly froze to death in your sleep. Here, let me help.'_ She blew hot air over him, which melted the ice and helped to revive him.

Galbatorix got up carefully, shivering inside his wet clothes. It was morning, and the sky was a glaring white-grey colour that matched Laela's wing membranes almost perfectly.

He put his hand on her snout. _'Are you all right, Laela?'_

The white dragon radiated a feeling of deep love toward him. _'I am, thanks to you. I'm so lucky to have you, Galbatorix. That's all I could think about last night. I'm so lucky to have been bonded to you. If I had the choice of taking a different rider… anyone else in the world… I'd still choose you.'_

Galbatorix hugged her tightly. _'I'm so glad you're alive… I was so frightened. I thought I was about to lose you._'

'_It's all right,'_ Laela murmured. _'It's all right now. I'm fine.'_

'_But how could this have happened to you? How could you be attacked by a wild dragon, just like that, when you weren't even intruding on his territory?'_

'_He must have been a wandering rogue or something,'_ said Laela. _'Sometimes wild dragons go mad when they lose their territories… I just don't know.'_

'_Well, I'll send in a report to Ilirea. Whoever this dragon is, he's got to be hunted down and put a stop to before someone else gets hurt. And you'd better stay closer to home from now on. I don't want anything to happen to you, Laela.'_

Laela started to protest, but stopped. _'Yes,'_ she said. _'Yes, you're right. I'll do that.'_

A servant appeared at that moment, carrying a tray of food. Galbatorix sat and ate his breakfast by Laela's side, and the pair of them watched the clouds drift over the sky, neither one needing to say anything.

The day was beginning to warm up, and Galbatorix had finished eating and was about to go to work when Laela's head suddenly went up. _'Look,'_ she said. _'It's a dragon.'_

It took a little while for Galbatorix to spot it as well, but spot it he did. A dragon was indeed flying toward the city from the East. A green dragon.

Galbatorix stood up. 'It's Leaf!' he said aloud.

As the dragon drew closer, they could both see that he was right. Galbatorix was pleased. 'Looks like we've got a visitor,' he said.

'_It'll be good to have another rider to talk to again,'_ said Laela. She lifted her head toward the sky and roared. After a few seconds, Leaf roared back. Galbatorix and Laela waited side by side, moving back to allow the green dragon to land. He did so neatly, like a bird alighting on a branch. He was a quarter as big again as Laela, since dragons grow more slowly as they get older, but much more heavily built.

Carina dismounted, and Galbatorix went to greet her. 'Hello!' he said cheerfully. 'This is unexpected. How are you?'

Carina adjusted her clothes. 'Well enough,' she said briefly.

Galbatorix's smile faded. 'What's up?'

'I'm here to relieve you of your duties,' said Carina.

That took him by surprise. 'Really? What am I supposed to do, then?'

'You're being recalled to Ilirea,' said Carina. 'The elders want a word with you.'

She had an uncharacteristically grim look on her face as she said this. Galbatorix's heart sank. 'Oh. Am I in trouble?'

'You could say that.'

'What for?'

'I think you know why,' said Carina, without a trace of friendliness.

It took Galbatorix a few seconds to figure it out. 'Oh,' he said. 'I see. Damn. I suppose Vrael would've found out about it sooner or later… when should I depart?'

'Today. And you'd better hope you have a good explanation.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'All right. Orders are orders, I suppose. But there's something you should know.'

'Yes?' said Carina.

'Last night Laela was attacked by a wild dragon. It was on the coast, somewhere near Narda. We don't know who it was or why they did it, but you'd best be on the lookout. The thing's savage. It nearly killed her.'

Carina paused over that. 'What did it look like?'

'Male, bigger than Laela. Gold scales, bronze eyes.'

'I'll keep an eye out,' Carina said briefly.


	18. The Tower

Chapter Eighteen

The Tower

The flight to Ilirea took two days. Galbatorix and Laela kept a leisurely pace and stopped several times to visit the various small villages and towns that lay between them and their destination, or to simply rest and enjoy the freedom. Neither of them were in a hurry to get to Ilirea and face Vrael again. They weren't sure of just what he would have to say about what they'd been up to during their time in Teirm, but it couldn't be good if they were being sent back to Ilirea for it. Galbatorix was the more pessimistic of the two, and kept suggesting various punishments that the old elf might have in store for them.

'_He'll probably send us away to some place in the middle of nowhere for the next ten years,'_ he moaned. _'We'll end up supervising a coal mine or something. Or he'll send us on campaign in the wilderness. Nothing but fighting urgal clans and flying over godsforsaken ashlands until we get ourselves killed.'_

'_Or we might have to go and treat with the wild dragons,'_ Laela suggested. _'That's not an assignment anyone wants. Half the time the emissaries don't come back.'_

'_Well, at least it'll be more exciting than paperwork…'_

Paradoxically, as they drew closer to Ilirea Galbatorix's mood lifted.

'_To hell with Vrael,'_ he declared. _'I'm not scared of him. I'll tell you what I'm going to do… I'm going to argue with him. When he tells me off, I'm going to fight back. Tell him I know about all the things he's been doing. I'm not going to keep pretending it didn't happen.'_

'_He won't like that,'_ said Laela.

'_Good. And we'll get to see Flell and Thrain again, too.'_

At last Ilirea came in sight. There were a number of other riders about, flying lazily among the towers or perched on the outer walls, keeping a lookout. One of them, a woman riding a smallish green dragon, flew up to intercept them. Laela flew in a slow circle and the green dragon fell in beside her so that the two riders could talk.

'Identify yourself,' the green dragon's rider said.

'I am Arren Cardockson, come back here at Vrael's command,' Galbatorix called back.

The woman took this in, then said; 'Go to the Elder's Tower. They're waiting for you.'

'Thankyou,' said Galbatorix.

Laela flew off, heading for the central and tallest of the towers. She entered the large opening halfway up its length, and landed in the massive Elders' cave, the same one where she and Galbatorix had originally taken their oaths of loyalty.

Galbatorix climbed down from the saddle, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing.

_They were all there._

All the elders were in the cave, standing in a semicircle with their dragons, just as they had done that day when he had first arrived in the city. They were waiting for him. And at their head was Vrael.

Galbatorix strode forward without hesitation, Laela following him, and bowed low before his master. 'My Lord Vrael,' he said politely. 'I've come.'

Vrael stepped forward. 'Arren Cardockson,' he said. 'Explain yourself.'

Galbatorix glanced around quickly. All the elders were watching him. Their stares made his heart flutter. He must be in real trouble if they had all come here on his account. Or had they gathered for some other reason?

Oh well. There was nothing for it.

He confronted Vrael, showing no outward signs of fear or nervousness. 'I'm not quite sure what I have to explain,' he said. 'But I'll do my best. My actions in Teirm were according to what you told me to do. You told me to use my judgement, and that was what I did, and as well as I could.'

Vrael did not look even slightly appeased. In fact he looked even angrier than before. And there was something else. Something about the way the old elf was looking at him.

'There is no need to explain that,' his former mentor said, breaking the tense silence. 'I understand your actions perfectly.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'You do?'

'Oh yes,' said Vrael. 'Freeing the slaves. No doubt you felt it was a noble and righteous thing to do.'

'It was!' said Galbatorix, stung by the sarcasm in Vrael's voice. 'It was the right thing to do.'

'Oh, why?' said Vrael.

'Because… because all men, all races, are equal,' said Galbatorix. As he spoke, his voice suddenly rose, filled with a new certainty. 'Everyone we rule over should be treated alike. Humans, elves, dwarves, dragons… even urgals. You taught me that it was my duty as a rider to do justice, and that is what I did. Justice for all races. Justice for all people. No-one should be sold into slavery, no matter who they are or where they come from. I became a rider because I wanted to put a stop to injustice. That's what I've been trying to do.'

To his surprise, his speech was greeted with hisses and mutterings from the elders. They were looking at him now with expressions of undisguised disgust, even hatred.

'How _dare_ you presume to speak to me like that!' Vrael roared. 'You repulsive, presumptuous, arrogant _creature!'_

'I am a rider!' Galbatorix shouted back, his blood up. 'I'm one of you, and I rule this land just as you do. And how dare _you _treat me like this? I'm not an elder, but I'm not a puppet of the Queen, either!'

He had gone too far. Vrael's normally calm face was suffused with rage. 'You are no rider!' he snarled, while around him the other elders stirred as if to attack, their dragons growling. 'You're a traitor and an oathbreaker, and you are no equal of mine.'

'I care more about the people of Alagaësia than you _ever_ did,' Galbatorix shouted back, his fists clenching. 'I wasn't afraid to be my own person, you _coward._'

Silence fell. A deep, ominous silence. It was far worse than the shouting that had gone before. Vrael looked as if he were fighting to control himself. Behind him, Nöst bared his massive fangs as if he wanted nothing better than to crush Galbatorix in his jaws.

At last, Vrael spoke. 'You have betrayed us all,' he said in a low voice. 'You have defiled what it means to be a rider.' He looked straight at Galbatorix, as if he were looking, not at a fellow rider who he had trained himself, but at something vile and unnatural. 'Hálfr-dreyri. _Half-breed._'

Galbatorix felt as if the world had disappeared from under his feet. All the strength drained out of him. 'What?'

'We know,' Vrael hissed. 'We know what you are. You… you subhuman creature, you _monster_.'

Fear struck him – deep, paralysing fear. 'How did you find out? Who told you?'

'Do you deny it, then?' said Vrael.

Galbatorix bowed his head. 'No,' he said. 'I don't deny it. I know what I am. I've always known. But I've done nothing wrong.' He looked entreatingly at Vrael. 'I'm innocent,' he said. 'I didn't choose to be born the way I am.'

And then Vrael hit him. The elf's small fist caught him hard in the face, and he fell backward, landing in a crumpled heap by Laela's foreclaws. She snarled her fury, but didn't dare move to attack.

Vrael stood over him, his eyes blazing, smooth exterior utterly gone. 'LIAR!' he almost screamed. He raised his arms to the ceiling and shouted; 'Oh by the ghosts of my ancestors, let the sky and the stars bear witness to this treachery, this _evil! _You planned this. You planned all of it. You stole into Ellesméra in the guise of a simple boy, you used some vile dark elvish magic to bond this unfortunate dragon to you, you insulted my people and violated their home and their ways, and as soon as you were beyond suspicion you set out to destroy the way of life we have preserved for hundreds of years. Freeing slaves, consorting with criminals, destroying valuable records, and as if this weren't bad enough, you violate a fellow rider and leave her with your vile inhuman spawn growing in her belly, and then you have the effrontery to come here and face us as if you expected us to _forgive_ you!'

Galbatorix got up. His nose was dripping blood and a bruise was spreading over his left cheek, but he barely registered the pain. 'What have you done with Flell?' he demanded, starting forward. 'Where is she? What are you doing to her?'

'She has been confined to the House of Healing,' Vrael spat. 'Her time is near. She wouldn't tell us who the father of her child was, but we got the truth out of her in the end. She told us the truth of what you did to her. How you _raped_ her.'

Galbatorix gaped at him. 'Me? Rape? I – that's a _lie!_ I loved her.' His head was spinning.

Vrael snorted. 'I have seen a hundred rapists brought before me, and all of them made that claim. You destroyed Flell's life. And what is worse, you spawned another of your cursed race.'

'I never-,'

'Be silent!' Vrael snapped. 'Now…' he turned his attention to Laela. 'Laela Snowscales, I know you cannot be blamed for your rider's crimes. Tell me true… did you know?'

Laela hesitated.

'Did you _know?'_ Vrael said again. 'Did you know what he was?'

Galbatorix spoke up. 'She didn't,' he said. He spoke in the ancient language and looked Vrael in the eye as he did so. 'She didn't know,' he said again. 'I kept it hidden from her, locked it away in my mind. Laela is innocent. If you're going to punish anyone, punish me but leave her out of it.'

Vrael looked sharply at Laela. 'Is this true?'

Laela cast an agonised glance at Galbatorix. He looked back steadily. The white dragon bowed her head. 'It's true,' she murmured. 'He kept it secret even from me. Vrael, I beg you. Don't hurt him. He's innocent. He never raped Flell. They were in love, I could feel it in them, and in Thrain. Flell betrayed him because she could not bear it when he told her the truth. She's a liar. Galbatorix has a good heart. He's kind, compassionate, intelligent… he has an open mind. He is more courageous than any human I have ever met.'

Galbatorix felt his heart swell a little at her words. She had spoken quietly and passionately, showing no sign of fear, and he could see that the elders were listening. Even Vrael had listened.

'Your loyalty to your rider is admirable,' the old elf said gruffly. 'I am deeply sorry that you were dragged into this sorry affair. If it is true that you knew nothing of his true nature, then you will not be punished. Now…' he looked at both her and Galbatorix, and his voice took on a tone of cold command. 'Take an oath that you will not leave the city again until given permission, and you will be free to leave this place.'

Galbatorix glanced at Laela. 'I promise that I will stay in Ilirea until given permission to do otherwise,' he intoned, using the ancient language.

Vrael nodded. 'Now go,' he said. 'I and my fellow elders will confer. Once we have decided your fate, you will be summoned back here. Do not try and visit Flell, or you will be confined to a cell. Do not take to the air. You will be separated until the decision has been made. Laela, you will stay down in the city. Arren, you will stay in this tower and not leave it, on pain of death. If you give the slightest indication that you are trying to leave, if you confer with each other or with anyone else, you will be killed on the spot. Is that understood?'

With a leaden heart, Galbatorix said; 'I understand.'

'Then go,' said Vrael.

Galbatorix left the cave by one of the doors in the back wall, while Laela turned away toward the entrance she had flown in by. The two of them kept looking back at each other, and when Laela was standing at the very lip of the cave entrance and Galbatorix had half-opened the door, they stopped and stared at each other from across the cave, each one aching to run toward the other. But Nöst moved between them and growled warningly, and the moment was over. Laela flew away into the city and Galbatorix stepped through the doorway.

The instant the door closed behind him, crippling despair flooded into his mind. It was as if the door had shut him away from Laela forever, leaving him alone in a white void, unable to reach her, as though she had ceased to exist the instant he had taken his eyes off her.

For what felt like the first time in years, he didn't know what to do. His heart clenched itself inside him, and he strode away from the elders' cave as fast as he could go, almost running away from that place, from his guilt, and Vreal's accusing face.

He didn't know where to go. His old quarters were in a different tower, and besides, what would be there for him? Nothing but featureless walls and the hammock he had once slept in.

The passageway, like all those in Ilirea, was made of white stone. It looked almost like it had been carved from bone, but there were no visible joins anywhere. The walls met the floor and ceiling not at right angles but with a kind of sinuous, rounded shape, as if he were in an underground tunnel – and one that had not been dug, but grown. Vrael had told him that the city had been built by magic. The stone had melded into itself by the use of spells, and the torches burnt eternally and never diminished because each one had been lit by magic. A strange and beautiful place, Ilirea, but one he had always found strangely… lifeless. As if no-one truly lived there.

Just now it felt like a prison. Scarcely thinking about it, Galbatorix climbed several flights of stairs and finally emerged on a balcony near the top of the tower. It was wide and featureless, the wall around its edge rounded and without crenellations. Ferns had been magically planted in holes drilled into the stone, and grew lush and green without the need for water or soil.

Galbatorix sat down with his back to the low wall at the edge, hugging his knees and staring at the sky. It was bright sapphire blue with scarcely a cloud to be seen, and the sun was well overhead. A beautiful day. Perfect for flying.

Galbatorix let out a sob. Fighting back tears, he covered his face with his long-fingered hands and felt fear turn his veins to ice. 'Flell,' he mumbled. 'Oh gods, Flell, how could you do this to me?'

His whole world was crumbling around him. Flell had betrayed him. His secret was out. Now Vrael knew. Now everyone knew. No matter what happened, from this day forth his life was over. He would never govern a city again, never become an elder, never lead an army into battle. His chance to try and undo some of the crimes of the riders was gone forever.

Now that the riders knew…

There was a stirring in the back of his mind, and Laela's voice said; _'Galbatorix? Galbatorix, can you hear me?'_

Galbatorix lifted his head. _'I can hear you, Laela.'_

There was a silence, and then Laela said; _'You lied to them. You lied in the ancient language.'_

'_I had to protect you, Laela. I can't… I can't let them hurt you because of me. Are you… where are you?'_

'_In the old dragon roost,'_ said Laela. _'Where sick dragons stay. There's no-one else here.'_

Galbatorix stood up and looked over the balcony, trying to spot it. It was easy enough to find; a huge, flat-roofed building not too far from the towers. _'Laela,'_ he said. _'You have to get out of here. Get away. Now. They didn't make you swear an oath; you can escape.'_

Laela shared a feeling of irritation. _'Galbatorix, you really are an idiot. I'm not going anywhere without you, and you know it.'_

'_Laela…'_ Galbatorix slumped down again, his head in his hands. _'Laela, it's hopeless. It's all up for me; I'm done for. There's nothing you can do to help me, so get out of here while you can. If they kill me… well, at least I'll die knowing you're safe. I can shut you out of my mind, stop you feeling it…'_

He could feel a little twinge of despair from her, a sort of mental sob. _'I… I can't. I just can't. What would I do without you, Galbatorix? I couldn't live without you beside me. Where would I go? What would I do? I'd be lost. Even if I did survive your death. And I wouldn't. Everything that happens to you, happens to me.'_

Galbatorix shuddered. _'Oh gods, Laela, I'm so sorry for all this. It's my fault we're in this situation.'_

'_I don't blame you,'_ she said softly. _'It's not your fault Flell did that. It's not your fault the elders… and who knows. We don't know they'll kill you. They wouldn't do that to one of their own. Maybe we'll be banished or something. I could live with that.'_

After that her mental voice faded. Their link was too tenuous over that distance to last long without intense concentration, and both of them were too tired and strained to keep it up.

The sun moved slowly across the sky, and Galbatorix sat alone on the ice-white balcony, waiting. He was hungry and thirsty, but he made no move to go inside for food. It was cold, especially at that altitude. Autumn was coming.

Somewhere below him the elders were talking, deciding his fate. And Laela was waiting and worrying. He could feel her fear.

Hours dragged by, and no-one came. He watched the patrolling riders as they circled overhead. Occasionally one would pass close by the balcony, but they were the only other living thing he saw. After a time he took a piece of paper out of his pocket. The edges were ragged and the folds in it were grimy and creased from all the time it had spent in his pocket. He unfolded it yet again, but barely registered the words written on it. He'd read them so many times that they had become almost meaningless.

… _Ingë Taranisäii, nineteen years old… Skandar Traeganni, of the race of the Dark Elves, age unknown. Sentenced to death… _

His grip on the paper loosened, and the wind whipped it out of his hand and carried it away over the city's rooftops, to be lost like a snowflake in a storm.

There was the sound of footsteps from inside the tower. Galbatorix looked up sharply. The footsteps drew closer and he stood up, his heart pounding. This was it. They were coming for him.

The door to the balcony opened, and a familiar figure stepped through it.

It was Brom.

Galbatorix's eyes widened. 'Brom! What are you doing-?'

Brom slammed the door and ran straight toward him. 'Galbatorix, you've got to get out of here.'

'Why?' Galbatorix said sharply. 'What's going on?'

Brom had changed since their last meeting. He was taller, his face was more mature and there was a blue-bladed rider's sword on his back. 'No time,' he said quickly. 'I came to warn you. They're going to kill you, Galbatorix. I heard them. They're coming for you, right now.'

Galbatorix grabbed his arm. 'What about Laela? What did they say about her?'

The fierce command in his voice caught Brom off-guard. 'They're not going to kill her,' he said. 'They're going…'

'Tell me!'

'They're going to use magic on you,' said Brom. 'Both of you. They're going to sever the bond between you. And afterwards… afterwards you'll die the traitor's death.'

Galbatorix went cold. He knew all too well what that meant. It was the death meted out only to the vilest of betrayers – the most hideous punishment ever used by the riders. He would be hung by the neck until he was nearly dead. Then his entrails would be torn out and burnt before his eyes, and aftewards he would be torn into four pieces, his heart ripped out of his chest and shown to the crowd.

And it would happen to him only after he had lost the one thing he truly valued in life – Laela.

'You've got to run,' Brom said urgently. 'Now.'

But it was already too late. There was a crash as the door leading into the tower opened, and three young riders burst through it, swords drawn. Brom stood aside hastily, and Galbatorix froze, staring at them in horror.

The foremost of the three riders pointed at him. 'Arren Cardockson, you're to come with us. The elders have made their decision. Don't try and fight.'

Galbatorix looked at them, then at Brom, appealing to him with his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Galbatorix,' Brom said. 'There's nothing I can do.'

'Come with us,' one of the three riders said again.

Galbatorix backed away. 'Please,' he said. 'Don't do this.'

'I'm sorry,' said the other rider. 'But we have to obey the elders.'

There was no escape. Galbatorix reached out desperately for Laela, calling her name again and again. There was no answer.

The three riders advanced on him, reaching out to seize his arms. Galbatorix dodged them, holding up his hands. 'Please,' he said. 'I don't want to fight you. Just give me a chance.'

'There are no chances for traitors.'

Galbatorix's mind raced as he looked from one to the other, weighing up his chances. If he could get around them to the door, that would only trap him inside the tower where there would be dozens of others waiting for him around every corner. There was the slimmest of slim chances that he could fight his way out, but he refused to do that. He did not want to kill anyone. Not even to save his own life. But if he didn't do that, then he would be captured, and then he would die the traitor's death.

That left only one alternative. He looked at Brom, then at the other riders as they pointed their swords at him, and felt a strange calmness.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'So sorry. For everything.' To Brom he said; 'Thankyou, Brom. You've been a friend to me. I'll… I hope you'll remember me well.'

'Galbatorix,' Brom began. 'Don't-,'

Galbatorix looked at him with resignation in those bottomless eyes. 'Goodbye,' he said again, and hurled himself off the balcony and into space.

Down in the city, there was a deafening crash as the roof of the dragon roost exploded into splinters and Laela burst through it. The white dragon shot straight upward like an arrow, shards of wood embedded in her wings. She made straight for the central tower in a blur of speed, heading right for the tiny black speck falling from its top. She intercepted it halfway down, then looped backward, turning on her back and then flipping over, flying away toward the city walls as fast as she could go, a dark, ragged bundle clasped tightly in her jaws.

The guard dragons, recovering from their shock, went in pursuit, closing in on her from all sides, but Laela was a dragon driven by a power stronger than mere muscle that day, and she outpaced them. She passed over the city walls and flew away over the countryside beyond, heading up into the clouds where her white scales made her nearly invisible.

The pursuit went on for several hours and into the night, but in the end the other riders lost sight of her and were forced to go back. Still, Laela did not stop flying, in spite of her pain and fatigue. Her wings were torn and she ached in every limb and muscle. Galbatorix hung limply from her jaws, and she could feel his own pain – clearly, he had not escaped the fall unscathed. She made no attempt to talk to him. All her energy went into staying in the air.

She didn't know where she was going at first, but once she had calmed down and slowed a little she thought quickly and turned herself toward the Spine. It was the only place she could think of where it was possible to hide.

Dawn came, and she was still flying. She avoided flying over settled areas, lest she be seen, and kept to the clouds.

As the sunrise made the sky slowly light up, Galbatorix stirred in her jaws. She felt his fear and renewed pain strike into her own mind, quickly followed by panic.

She reached into his mind. _'It's all right! It's all right, Galbatorix. I've got you. You're safe.'_

He moved again, hurting himself on her teeth. _'Where… what happened? Laela?'_

'_You're all right,'_ Laela said again. _'We're getting away.'_

He was silent for a long time. _'Am I… am I dead?'_

Once she might have laughed at him, but not any more. _'No,'_ she said. _'You're alive. I caught you.'_

'_Where – where are we going, Laela?'_

'_To the Spine. We can hide there for a while. After that… I don't know.'_

He stopped speaking then, and Laela flew on, not daring to stop, but fearing that he might be more badly hurt than she had realised.

By noon she had reached Dras-Leona, and flew over the lake to where the mountains of the Spine loomed. She landed at the very edge of the mountains, in some thick forest, and gently set Galbatorix down. He slid out of her jaws, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. He made no attempt to get up.

Laela nosed gently at him. She knew he wasn't dead; she would have felt it if he'd died. But he wasn't moving. She could smell blood on him, and see it on his clothes, which were damp and torn. His eyes were closed.

Laela probed at his mind. _'Galbatorix, are you all right? Wake up!'_

He didn't reply, but she saw his face twitch. He mumbled something, and his eyes opened slowly, looking up at her.

'Are you all right?' she said again, out loud.

Galbatorix's hands curled and uncurled gently, and he groaned. 'My chest,' he said. 'It hurts. I think…' he made an attempt to sit up, and pain instantly crackled through Laela's own chest. She cringed and touched him with her snout. _'Lie still,'_ she advised. _'You're hurt. Rest awhile. I'll keep watch.'_

But he wouldn't. A new strength seemed to come into him, and he sat up sharply, taking hold of her snout to help him balance. He took one hand off her snout and began checking himself for injuries.

Laela watched. _'What is it?'_ she asked at length.

Galbatorix had been taught about wounds. _'My ribs are broken,'_ he said, his voice surprisingly calm. _'And I think my shoulder might be dislocated. And your teeth ripped me up a bit.'_

'_I'm sorry-,'_ Laela began.

'_Oh, do shut up. I'll take a few cuts over being drawn and quartered any day.'_

Laela grinned. _'Oooh, sarcasm. Now I know you're all right.'_

She held him up while he healed his injuries one by one, lending him some of her strength when he needed it. Afterwards he was able to get up and walk around, and she knew he was all right.

'_What happened in the tower?'_ Laela asked. _'Why did you jump?'_

Galbatorix, who had been pacing around the little clearing they had landed in, halted. _'They were going to kill me,'_ he said. _'Brom… he warned me about what was going to happen to us, but they came for me, and I decided to jump. It would have been a better fate than the one the elders chose.'_

'_What was that?'_ said Laela, stiffening slightly.

'_They were going to break our link,'_ said Galbatorix. _'They were going to use magic to separate us forever. And afterwards… they were going to execute me. The traitor's death. Hanging, drawing and quartering.'_

Laela went cold. _'No! I don't believe it! How could they even think of it? Doing that to you? I…'_ she bowed her head, too shocked to know what to feel.

'_I took the coward's way out,'_ Galbatorix said. _'Throwing myself off the tower… it would have been a quick death. For both of us. I could… if I'd had time, I would have asked you what to do. If I'd gone with them and let them do it, you would have been all right, at least.'_

'_No I wouldn't have. If it's a choice between losing you and death, I'll take death.'_

'_Well, you've still got me,'_ Galbatorix said dourly. _'I hope it was worth it. Because we're lost now. We got away from Ilirea, yes, but that only bought us some time. The riders won't stop until they find us, and when they do… we'll die. They'll kill you too for helping me escape. Where can we go now, Laela? The riders have got control over the whole country. Anyone who sees us will turn us in. What are we going to do?'_

Laela twitched her tail with a determined expression. _'There has to be somewhere we can go. Maybe somewhere in the East. There's undiscovered country there… or over the sea. The riders can't be everywhere.'_

Galbatorix sat down on a rock and massaged his temples. _'We're going to spend the rest of our lives as fugitives, you know. We'll never have a home again.'_

'_Well, that's something we're just going to have to put up with,'_ said Laela, with unexpected sharpness. _'Or would you rather die?'_

Galbatorix reached up to his shoulder and touched White Violence's hilt. _'I've survived too much to die now. We both have. But I wish… if I got the chance to fight Vrael again, I'd take it. He took everything from me. From us.'_

'_Revenge? Forget it, Galbatorix. It's no good to us. Not now.'_

'_No…' _Galbatorix let go of the sword hilt.

For a long time the two of them said nothing. Galbatorix sat and thought. Now that his fear and despair had died down somewhat, they were being replaced by rage and bitterness. After so much fear and doubt, so many triumphs, so much work, it had all come to this. He had been born without a place in the world but had climbed to the top of the heap, fighting his way past everything that got in his way in order to find one for himself. But after coming so far to get it, he had had it snatched away and been left even worse off than before. Before he had had nothing. Now he had less than nothing.

Once he had been a commoner, a nobody, a bastard half-breed orphan with no true family. But he had had a home, and parents of a sort, and a station in life. Now he was a traitor and a criminal, cast out by the riders, almost certainly with a bounty on his head already. All he had left were his sword and his life. And Laela, of course. That strengthened him a little.

Born cursed. He saw it truly now. From the moment he had been conceived, before he even drew his first breath, he had been cursed. A half-breed. An unnatural creature, an unwanted child born to doomed parents. He was no true human, and no true elf, and not even the riders, his adopted people, would accept him now his secret was known.

It was this curse, the curse that lived in his blood, that had made him so alone. He had no people to call his own.

And that was when an idea hit him. A wild, impossible idea.

He dismissed it at first, but it nagged at him, and the more he thought about it, the more he found himself unable to ignore it.

'_Laela,'_ he said slowly. _'I have an idea.'_

She looked at him. _'What is it?'_

'_My father's people,'_ said Galbatorix. _'It's said that there are still some dark elves left somewhere in Alagaësia. Why don't we look for them?'_

Laela bared her teeth. _'Are you mad? Us? Go looking for dark elves, in a land where everyone is our enemy? For the love of gods, Galbatorix, use your head. They're _gone._ Nothing can bring them back.'_

'_But they're not all dead,'_ Galbatorix persisted, standing up. _'I read about it. The records say they were massacred and the survivors fled. Fled. And no-one found them. They must have gone into hiding somewhere.'_

'_Oh?'_ said Laela, with a kind of desperate, angry sarcasm. _'Oh really. And where did they go into hiding, then? Well? You know everything here, so where did they go?'_

Galbatorix glanced up at the sky. _'North,'_ he said. _'They'll have gone North. Into the mountains beyond Du Weldenvarden. Into the Icelands. I can feel it in my blood.'_

'_But why look for them?'_ Laela said more gently.

'_Because the dark elves are my people,'_ said Galbatorix. _'My kind. Maybe some of them are my family. I have to know, Laela. I have to find out if they're all gone. And we don't have anywhere else to go.'_


	19. The Icelands

Chapter Nineteen

The Icelands

For the next few days the pair of them stayed in hiding in the Spine, not knowing what else to do. Galbatorix had to live off berries and mushrooms, supplementing them with whatever small game he could find. He hardly dared to light a fire, lest it be seen by someone, and for the same reason Laela kept to the ground. The trouble was that she was too conspicuous for safety. White dragons were very rare in the wild, and aside from Nöst she was the only dragon of her colour to have a rider. If she was seen flying over the Spine, someone was bound to see her, and it would bring the riders down on their heads.

But even in spite of these precautions their life in the Spine was still extremely fraught. There were wild dragons about, and they did not take kindly to having outsiders on their land. They couldn't go further into the mountains lest they intrude on the territory of one of the larger dragons that lived there, and even on the edge, where only the weaker ones had territories, they were in constant danger. A wild dragon never backs away from a fight and rarely chooses to talk first, and time and time again they had to fight for their lives.

Both of them became thin and scarred. Laela's scales lost their shine and Galbatorix's clothes became ragged. Their faces began to take on a wild, desperate, hollow-eyed look as again and again they were driven away and forced to find some new place to hide. Galbatorix became weak and listless from exposure and lack of food, and then developed a persistent, hacking cough that shook his thin form all over. Laela did her best to keep him warm and help him find food, but still it wasn't enough. The cough became worse. She would lie awake at night listening to it with despair, and in the end she was forced to see that he simply would not survive this life. And so, after nearly a month in the Spine, she woke him up one morning and said; _'We're leaving. Now.'_

Galbatorix stirred and sat up, picking bits of loose leaf-litter out of his hair. He coughed several times and pulled his cloak around him, shivering in the cold autumn winds. _'Where are we going?' _he asked.

'_North,'_ said Laela.

'_You mean-?'_

'_It's the only way I can think of to go. We can… well, it's got to be better than here. And who knows – maybe we'll find your father's people after all.'_

In Ilirea, Vrael was doing his best to hide his fear. But he couldn't hide it from himself. The half-breed's escape was nothing less than a disaster for the elders, and he knew it. At first no-one was sure how Galbatorix had managed to do it, given the oath he'd taken, but after careful questioning of Brom and the other young riders who had been there Vrael had seen the truth of it. His fall from the tower had been a suicide attempt, not an escape, and it was only pure luck that had brought his dragon in time to save him. And Vrael had not made her swear an oath.

Again and again he cursed himself for his stupidity. Why had he not restrained the cursed creature? The half-breed's claim that she knew nothing of his true evil had convinced Vrael that she could be trusted, but now she had proven herself to be as treacherous as her rider.

From thereon in, there was only one thing to do: catch them. But it was proving far more difficult than Vrael had anticipated. He had sent out messages to every town and village in the land. The rider Arren Cardockson, also known as Galbatorix Taranisäii, nineteen years old and bonded to a white dragon called Laela, was now a traitor and criminal. Any loyal subject of the riders was commanded to be on the lookout, and if anyone spotted either him or his dragon they were to inform the local official at once. Helping the fugitives in any way – either directly, by giving them food or shelter, or indirectly, by failing to report having seen them – would be considered an act of treason. But information would be rewarded, and anyone who managed to capture either one of them would be granted a lordship.

Still, at first Vrael had considered that a mere formality. After all, the half-breed had sworn loyalty to him, so a command made in the ancient language for him to come back should be all that was needed.

But it wasn't. Vrael cast the spell that would project his words into the half-breed's mind, only to find that it wouldn't work. It was as if the boy had simply vanished from the face of the earth. His mind was… invisible. No matter what Vrael tried, he could not find him.

Nor could any of the other riders he sent do the same.

And then, to his rage, he discovered something else. He remembered that he knew Galbatorix's true name – a name that would control him no matter where he was. Or, at least, he thought he knew. But when he attempted to use it, nothing happened. That was when he realised the truth. The half-breed boy that he had trained was indeed a dark elf. He had lied about his true name, and doubtless lied about many other things as well.

In truth the riders, including Vrael, knew very little about dark elves. Their determination to destroy their race utterly – along with its culture – had succeeded so well that even the riders themselves knew virtually nothing about the people they had crushed. Every book written about them had been banned and burned, and Vrael had not taken the time to give any of them more than a cursory glance before they were disposed of.

All he had to go on were old stories and heresy, but that was what he thought back on now, as he tried to understand the nature of the traitor and what vile things he could have inherited from his cursed father.

The dark elves were oathbreakers; he knew that much. When he had fought them he had personally seen them somehow break oaths that had been made in the ancient language. Somehow, by the use of some dark magic, they could break the law of magic that was supposed to be unbreakable: they could tell lies in the ancient language. And, it seemed, they were powerful in the mind. Terrifyingly so.

Again and again Vrael tried to scry the half-breed, searching for him in the clear surfaces of water and mirrors, but no matter how hard he tried it simply would not work. All the visions showed him was darkness – either death or invisibility. Perhaps the half-breed _was_ dead. The fall from the tower could well have killed him. But if that was true, then why had his dragon still been able to fly? The pain of feeling him die would have affected her far too deeply for her to be able to escape. Unless the half-breed had somehow cut himself off from her at the moment of death…

But Vrael couldn't make himself believe that were true. No. The half-breed was alive somewhere, and for as long as he was alive, he was dangerous.

And there was still the matter of the girl.

Flell was in the House of Healing, down at the base of one of the towers. Vrael had spoken to her several times. She was nearing her time. Within a month or so, the half-breed's child would be born.

Flell said very little now. She cried almost constantly. Sometimes she would tear at herself, sobbing brokenly all the while, as if she were trying to destroy herself.

Vrael's heart ached for her. She did not deserve this fate, did not deserve what the half-breed had done to her. He had listened with mounting horror as she had described the treatment she had received at Galbatorix's hands, scarcely able to believe that even he would be capable of such behaviour. Flell claimed that he had come to her in her bedchamber, night after night, and brutally forced his attentions on her, threatening to kill her if she told anyone else.

'And when I told him I was pregnant, he laughed,' she whispered, her eyes wandering vacantly around the room. 'He said… said he wouldn't be the last of his race any more, thanks to me. Said the child would be his and he'd teach it all he knew, and…' she choked back a sob, and said no more.

Vrael had commanded the healers to administer an abortifacient, but it had not worked. The child remained alive inside its mother, growing steadily all the while.

At last, one night, three weeks after Galbatorix's disappearance, word was brought to Vrael that Flell had gone into labour.

He listened coldly. 'Send for me when the child has been born. Tell no-one else.'

The night drew on, but Vrael did not sleep. He paced in his room, his head bowed, like a great maned cat in the gloom.

In his head, he thought he could hear faint whisperings. _A race reborn, Vrael. Is that not a joyous thing, a joyous thing?_

Vrael shuddered. 'No,' he said aloud. 'No. Some things should stay dead.'

He grasped the hilt of his sword, which he had taken to wearing everywhere these days. The feel of the cool gold under his fingers made him feel a little better. But he could not escape from the fear gnawing at his stomach. When he glanced up, his mind drew pictures in the room, painting the half-breed's face in every shadow. No matter where he turned, he could still see it, laughing coldly at him.

_You should have listened, fool,_ it said, in that passionate, commanding voice he knew so well. _Should have listened to them. You gave me my powers, Vrael. You taught me all I know. You made a half-breed into a rider._

Vrael breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, as guilt closed over him like a great cold hand. 'My gods,' he whispered. 'What have I done?'

He had failed. He was a fool, a blind, arrogant fool. He had created the monster that had ravaged Flell and betrayed them all. _His fault._ How could he have missed it? How could he have missed it, when it was right there in front of him? He had seen the last of the dark elves with his own eyes – how could he have failed to see them in his face? Those glittering eyes, that pale, angular face and lithe frame… he had seen a dark elf standing before him in the flesh, yet he had not seen him for what he was until it was too late.

As the sun rose, turning the sky a delicate shade of pink and casting light over Ilirea's dark stones, there was a knock on Vrael's door.

'Enter.'

The door opened. The visitor bowed low. 'My Lord,' he said. 'The child has been born.'

Vrael went cold. This was it.

He wrapped himself in a warm cloak and left his room, walking down the stairs and toward the House of Healing with slow, heavy footsteps.

Flell was in the chamber where she had given birth, lying on a simple pallet with a blanket over her. She looked pale and drained, and was fast asleep. A number of elvish healers were attending to her, but stopped and bowed when Vrael entered.

'Show it to me.'

One of the healers wordlessly placed the child in his arms.

Vrael cradled it awkwardly. It was a girl, her head adorned with a wisp of black hair. She looked perfectly normal at first, but, with a sinking heart, Vrael saw that she was not.

The child's ears were pointed. And when she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he saw that they were not milky blue like those of a normal child, but black and glittering. Her father's eyes, already disconcertingly alert.

'My Lord, what shall we do with her?' one of the healers asked hesitantly.

Vrael said nothing. He stared at those fathomless eyes with an awful coldness at his heart. To his shock, he found himself fighting back tears.

The healer cast a glance at the sleeping Flell. 'She cannot be allowed to keep it,' he said in a low voice. 'The child is a dark elf, anyone can see that. For a rider to be seen bearing one… it would shame us all.'

'I can take it away,' a second healer offered. 'Find a foster home somewhere…'

Vrael looked up at last. 'No,' he said harshly. 'I will take the child.'

'Very well, my Lord,' said the healer. He looked at Flell. 'But what shall I tell her?'

'Tell her the child was stillborn,' said Vrael. 'Do not mention any of this to her.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Vrael wrapped the child in a blanket and left, his head bowed, carrying his shameful burden against his thin chest.

As he climbed back up the tower toward his own room many people saw him. The Lord of the riders, carrying a bundle in his arms, his normally calm demeanour full of sadness, his head low with shame. No-one dared to stop him, and he ignored all those who spoke to him.

He reached his room and locked himself in, muttering a word which lit the candles. Then he laid the child down on the bed and sat down on a chair, staring silently at her. She lay quite still, making no sound, just watching him with those black diamond eyes.

Vrael could not look at her. He buried his face in his hands, his white hair falling down over his fingers, while fear and rage waged war inside him.

_What do I do? What can I do? _

But he knew what he had to do.

He raised his head and looked at the child again. 'You should have a name,' he said huskily. 'No-one may live without a name.'

The child's tiny hands grasped at the air, the fingers curling, each one perfectly formed.

'Lialana,' said Vrael. 'Your name is Lialana. Lialana… Taranisäii.'

His mouth twisted bitterly when he said the word 'Taranisäii', and he stood up, looking down at the child. 'Your father,' he whispered to her. 'He did this to you, little one. You will never know him, but if you must blame anyone for your fate, blame him.'

The child crooned softly, reaching toward him for comfort.

'I am sorry,' Vrael breathed. 'But the dark elves must not return. I am sorry, little one. Lialana. Please. Forgive me.'

The candles flickered softly, and Vrael felt his heart slowly freeze inside him, draining all emotion out of his body.

He picked up a cushion. 'I am sorry,' he whispered again, and pressed it over the child's face.

Afterwards, when the deed was done, the Lord of the riders turned away, the cushion falling from his grasp. His legs collapsed and he slumped onto the floor, unable to get up, unable to look back at what was on the bed.

He began to cry.

The mountains of the Icelands were below them now. They were huge and craggy, bigger by far than the mountains of the Beors or the Spine, their peaks white with ice and snow. The land here was high country, covered with dark pine forests and rocky outcrops. There were no signs of civilisation beyond the occasional tiny urgal settlement – this was one of the few places where the horned, hulking beast-men could still live without fear of attack. The riders had long since driven them out of the warmer lands to the South, and now the last urgal tribes lived in the North, eking out a living as best they could.

It was inhospitable country; that was plain enough. The further North they got, the colder the air became. Before long they were flying over vast snowfields and frozen lakes, where herds of white deer and elk roamed. At night, when they made camp, Galbatorix built a large fire and cast a spell over it to keep it burning through the night to keep away wolves and the cold.

It was hard to imagine anything other than animals and urgals living out here – certainly, it was nothing like the warm elvish forests of Du Weldenvarden. But here, at least, they were safe. Riders did not come this far – there were no people out here to rule over, and no land worth owning.

To his surprise, Galbatorix found himself feeling at home there in a way he had never done in any of the other places he had spent his life in so far. The landscape, harsh though it was, made sense to him. The snow, the sharp smell of pine needles, the white deer and the icy winds… it all felt somehow right to him. It seemed to suit Laela as well. Here her white scales made her perfectly camouflaged instead of horribly conspicuous, and her slim frame and short wings were perfect for moving among the pine forests they sheltered in every night.

As their journey continued, they began to feel much safer and even began to enjoy themselves. Their old life was over, and, with it, all the hard work and responsibility. Now they were out on their own, and the journey started to feel like more than just an escape into hiding – it started to feel like something of an adventure, too.

The only part of it that remained a worry was the continued scarcity of food. Galbatorix found edible fern roots and various lichens and funguses buried under the snow, and several times they found trees which still had a few nuts, but more than once he had to go a day with nothing but melted snow to drink. Still, it was enough to hold onto, and at least they could afford to stop and rest for a time when the going got too hard.

And still the icelands stretched on out ahead of them like a never-ending sea. After a while the urgal villages ran out, and they were utterly alone. They were glad of that. Riders were not welcome on urgal territory, and whenever they were close to it they ran the risk of being attacked.

And then, one day, they came across a deep valley of pine trees that lay between two mountains. It was much larger than any valley they had seen so far, and sheltered from the wind, so Laela came down to land in a clear spot in the centre. Galbatorix dismounted and had a look around. Here he was standing on a damp mat of pine-needles instead of snow, and the air was a little warmer. Ferns grew around the trees, which were tall, ancient pines with the occasional oak or birch among them. A steam wove its way among them and through the valley to a silver pool edged with ice.

The valley was full of shadows and whispers. Nothing, not so much as a distant birdsong, could disturb the silence. Even the rush and gurgle of the stream seemed muted.

'This is a good spot,' said Galbatorix, his voice sounding strangely thin and small, as if the silence had swallowed it up. 'We can stay here for a while.'

Laela sniffed the air. 'I smell wolves. And something else. Very faint. I'm not sure what it is.'

Galbatorix sat down on a rock. 'Well, just as long as it's not something that's going to attack us, I'm fine with it.'

A movement caught his eye. He drew his sword with lightning speed and went into a fighting stance. With his free hand, he pointed at what appeared to be a shadow by a tree. 'All right,' he said sharply. 'I can see you there. Come out. Now.'

There was a silence. Wind sighed among the trees. And then the shadow moved. It came forward into the weak sunlight, and the moment the light touched it, it was revealed to be a man.

The man was very tall, and thin. He had a lithe, elegant build that was not immediately apparent due to the fact that he was clad in a long, heavy black robe. He wore a pair of large fur-lined boots that made his feet look much bigger, but his head and hands were bare. He had a fine head of long black hair, and his chin was adorned by a pointed black beard. His face was pale and angular and the hands that poked through the wide sleeves of the robe were long-fingered and elegant. And his eyes were black and glittering.

'Who are you?' said Galbatorix.

The man regarded him silently. His gaze was keen and intelligent, but it was impossible to tell if he was hostile or merely curious. Finally he said; '_Paham byd tydi yma?_'

The words were in a strange, lilting language that Galbatorix did not recognise at all.

'I don't understand,' he said.

'_Hon tirio byd eiddom_,' said the man. He didn't look like he was about to attack, but he moved a little closer to look at Galbatorix, folding his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate that he did not have a weapon. He glanced at Laela, who regarded him cautiously.

Galbatorix tried the ancient language. 'I mean you no harm,' he said, lowering White Violence.

The man pulled up short, blinking in surprise. And then Galbatorix's heart leapt as he saw something he had missed before. The man's ears were pointed.

Then the man spoke in the ancient language, which he spoke well, albeit with an odd harsh accent. 'Be you rider?' he said.

Galbatorix held up his hand, showing the gedwëy ignaesia. 'I am a rider and a friend,' he said.

It was the wrong thing to say. There was a blur of motion, and before Galbatorix knew what was happening the man was on him, teeth bared, pressing the blade of a strange sickle-shaped weapon into his neck.

Galbatorix acted fast. He moved sideways, bringing White Violence up in a powerful blow. He hit the man hard in the chest, and he fell backward without a sound. Laela started forward, snarling, and Galbatorix moved to stand in her shadow.

The black-robed man's harsh breathing broke the silence. He had landed in a crouch on the ground like some giant forest cat, poised to spring. Galbatorix had hit him only with the sword-hilt, and he stood ready to fight again, his neck stinging where the man's weapon had cut him.

'I do not wish to fight,' he said loudly, in the ancient language. 'I come in peace.'

The man pulled himself upright, his weapon still clasped in his hand. It was an odd sickle-shaped thing, unlike anything Galbatorix had seen before, but still quite sharp. Its owner showed no sign of being either angry or frightened. 'You have killed yourself by coming here, silver-hand,' he said coldly. 'Your kind is not welcome on our land.'

Galbatorix paused. 'Are you…' he could not stop himself from asking. 'Are you a dark elf?' he said in a rush.

The man bared his teeth again, like a wolf. 'This land is dark elvish land,' he said. 'Your kind drove us away from our homes, but we have made this ours.'

Galbatorix stood there in indecision for a moment. Then he put White Violence back into its sheath. 'I came looking for you,' he said carefully. 'I am… a friend.'

The dark elf made a contemptuous half-laughing sound through his nose. 'You are a fool, human. To come this far, alone and unarmoured, and to enter our valley without first checking for danger. Are you the best the riders can train now?'

That stung Galbatorix. 'The riders are not my people,' he said. 'I am an outcast. I came here not to fight, but to escape.'

The dark elf paused at that. 'Why would a rider flee?' he asked, lowering his weapon.

'The riders betrayed me,' said Galbatorix. 'They called me traitor and wanted to kill me. So I came here to escape from them.'

The elf's eyes narrowed. 'Who _are_ you? What is thy name?'

'I am… Galbatorix Taranisäii of Teirm, son of Ingë Taranisäii of the Ancient House of Taranis and Skandar Traeganni of the dark elves.' It was the first time he had introduced himself with his real name and parents, and he felt an odd twinge of pride and nervousness as he did so.

The elf stared at him in silence for several seconds. Then, without warning, he turned and melted away into the trees, disappearing into the shadows as if he'd never been there at all.

Galbatorix and Laela stared at the spot where he had stood.

'_My gods,'_ Galbatorix said eventually. _'We did it. I can't believe it. We found them.'_

'_And then lost them again,'_ said Laela. _'Why did he run off like that? I doubt it's because we're so frightening.'_

Galbatorix glanced down at his clothes. They were very ragged and worn by now. _'No, probably not.'_

He looked up as strange sounds echoed among the trees. Whoops and whistles, like some kind of strange bird, and then, cutting across them, the unmistakeable howl of a wolf.

Galbatorix shivered and coughed a few times. The illness hadn't quite left him yet.

'_We should light a fire if we're going to stay here,'_ said Laela.

Galbatorix was about to reply, and then…

…and then, quite suddenly and in complete silence, they appeared. They slid out of the shadows, their feet making absolutely no sound, as if they were shadows come to life. In mere moments the clearing was full of them – men and women, every single one clad in a black robe.

Galbatorix turned, looking around at them all in astonishment.

It was like looking into a dozen mirrors. No. It was like looking at his family. And that, he realised, was what they were.

Dark elves. They had black hair and glittering black eyes, and were tall, pale and angular, long-limbed and elegant. Their ears were pointed, but they were not like those of the Southern elves. They were longer and wider, more curved. Many of them had elaborate blue spiral tattoos adorning their cheeks and foreheads, and their ears were studded with silver rings and studs.

'_Oh my gods,'_ said Laela. _'They're… they're _you!'

The dark elves said nothing. They stood and watched the newcomers closely, showing no sign of any emotion – either fear, anger or pleasure. But there was a certain excitement in the air, along with tension. Galbatorix found himself fearing them, but he was fascinated by them as well.

There was a stirring among the crowd, and one of the elves came forward to meet him. This was a woman, and clearly very old. Her black hair was streaked with silver, and unlike the others she wore a silver gown. But she moved with the grace and power of youth, and her heavy, fur-lined boots made no sound on the ground. She strode toward Galbatorix until they were very close before she halted.

And then, to his utter astonishment, she knelt before him, bowing her head so that her silvered hair fell down over her face.

Galbatorix stared at her, not knowing what to say.

The old elf looked up at him, her finely-wrinkled face full of wonder. 'The half-breed,' she breathed, speaking the ancient language. 'The half-breed has come.'

'Don't call me that,' said Galbatorix, unable to stop himself.

The elf stood. 'But I say it as a blessing, not a curse,' she said. 'You are our last hope. You are the one we have awaited for so long.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'I don't understand. I'm just-,'

'Tell me your name,' said the elf.

'I'm… Arren. Arren Cardockson, of Teirm.'

'_No_,' the elf said forcefully, almost angrily. 'Tell me your true name, half-breed.'

'I am… Galbatorix Taranisäii, son of Ingë Taranisäii and Skandar Traeganni.'

'Ahhhh…' the elf closed her eyes for a moment, almost blissfully. 'Yes,' she said. 'I know it for true now. You have told me your name now, Sire, so let me tell you mine. I am Arthryn Traeganni. I am your grandmother.'

Galbatorix gaped at her. _His grandmother…_ but there was something else she had said that bothered him. '"Sire"?' he said. 'Why do you call me that? I'm no King.'

'But you will be some day,' said Arthryn. '"Galbatorix"… "Great King". That is what your name means in our tongue.'

'But I don't want to be a King,' said Galbatorix.

'You have no choice, Sire,' said Arthryn. 'It is your fate. Listen to me. Long ago, when our people – _your_ people – were slaughtered by the Southern elves and their puppets, the riders, it seemed that the world was coming to an end. Those who survived the massacre fled North, and I was one of them. I am a seer. Through me, the gods foretell the yet to come when they see fit. But I did not foresee our destruction, and I was ashamed. I did not want to live. I had seen my son killed, my grandson carried away in chains, my family put to the sword, my home turned to ashes by dragon-fire, our shrines desecrated. It seemed clear to me that my life was over. I had nothing left to live for, and I lay down in the snow to let death take me. But I did not die. That night, I had a dream, clearer than any I had ever had before. In this dream I saw the coming of a King, and when I awoke the prophecy was in my mind. I found my people again and we made a new home in this place, and since then we have waited for that prophecy to be fulfilled. With your coming, we can know that our waiting was not in vain.'

'But _me?_ I'm not a King, or a prince, and anyway, Alagaësia is ruled by the riders, not by Kings. And I'm just, well… a traitor, and a half-breed.'

'Do not let them make you ashamed,' Arthryn said sharply. 'No. To be a half-breed is no shame. It is your gift.' She closed her eyes and recited; '_When blood of man and blood of elf do mingle on a darkened day, then shall we know the coming of a King, and all our enemies fall_.'

Galbatorix glanced around at the dark elves. They were not all alike, as the Southern elves were. Each one was individual. Many of the men wore the same pointed beards as the first one had, and the women had silver decorations strung in their hair. They were all looking at him, and their formerly expressionless faces were full of awe and respect.

'But this isn't right,' he protested. 'That prophecy could be about anyone. I'm sure I'm not the only half-breed in the world…'

'No,' Arthryn admitted. 'But you are the only one who is dark elf. And you are the only one who is a rider. Only a rider may do what you will do.'

'Do what?'

Arthryn's hands curled into fists. 'Destroy those cursed riders and throw down their cities, and avenge their victims. Bring justice.'

The dark elves let out a collective, savage shout at this, a sound full of blood-lust. Galbatorix's eyes widened. 'No,' he said. 'No, Arthryn. I am sorry, but no. I'm no killer, and I have no wish to be a King.'

Arthryn stared at him through her bottomless eyes. 'Then why have you come to us?'

'Because I had nowhere else to go,' said Galbatorix. 'The riders drove me away because I was a half-breed. I have no home and no people to call my own, so I looked for the dark elves. Because… I hoped that I would find a home with you.'

'And a home you shall have,' said Arthryn, turning away abruptly. 'For as long as you wish for it. We will treat you as our honoured guest, and we will teach you our language and our ways – for they are your ways as well. But come… speak with us, let us know you better. Come with me.'

She walked away silently. Galbatorix glanced at Laela, and followed her away through the trees. The other dark elves followed. They stalked among the pines, still moving in that silent, graceful way that made him feel embarrassingly loud and clumsy.

Arthryn led the way to a spot at the base of one of the two mountains, where there was a large hollow ringed by trees. At the centre of it a fire was burning… but it was clearly not a normal fire. Its flames were black and gave off no smoke, but they were so hot that they warmed the entire clearing.

Sitting by it were five more dark elves – three men and two women. They stood up when Arthryn appeared, and Galbatorix was led straight to them. Arthryn presented him to the five elves, saying; 'He is come, the half-breed is come, my Lords and Ladies.' To Galbatorix she said; 'Sire, these are the last of the dark elvish nobles. Lord Skirnar Trynydd, Lady Lynidd Ywnyth, Lord Faenwyth Wychwyn and Lord Kraeth Naenydd. And this,' she added, turning to an elvish woman who wore a thin silver circlet on her brow, 'Is our ruler, Queen Saethryn Traeganni. My niece.'

The Queen was a head shorter than Galbatorix, but had a commanding presence. She looked at him with undisguised curiosity.

Galbatorix bowed to her. 'It is an honour to meet you, Queen Saethryn.'

Saethryn smiled. 'The honour is mine, Sire.'

Galbatorix was unable to hide his unhappiness over this, but he said; 'My Lady, will you grant me permission to stay in your realm?'

Saethryn laughed. 'My realm? This place is hardly a realm, even for a Queen as ragged as I am. But you need no permission from me, Sire.' She paused. 'I see you dislike being addressed as a King.'

'I am not a King, my Lady.'

'But you are, Sire,' said Saethryn. 'And not in the future, but in the present. It is in your blood. The Traegannis were always the royal house of the dark elves, but I am not a direct descendant. I was crowned after the true royal line was destroyed… or so we believed. You are the son of Skandar Traeganni, the last heir to the dark elvish throne, and so the Kingship of our people is yours by rights.'

Galbatorix took a moment to collect himself. 'If you will forgive me for doing so, my Lady, I would like to decline to take the throne. It is yours.'

Saethryn glanced at Arthryn. 'This King is humble, Arthryn.'

'He does not want to accept his destiny,' said Arthryn.

Saethryn nodded. 'I like that. Any man who accepts such a thing as if it were his due is unworthy to govern his people.' To Galbatorix she said; 'Understand this, Sire – when we first came to this place, I did not want to become Queen. I fought against it. But in the end I came to see that I had no choice in the matter. For a ruler, duty comes before else. Duty to your people and your country. A King is no master, but the greatest of all servants. You must understand that, if you are to govern wisely.'

Galbatorix hesitated. He didn't like the idea of arguing with a Queen, but he couldn't help it. 'My Lady… you're mistaken. I will never be a King. It's impossible. The riders rule Alagaësia, and I have no interest in trying to usurp them. It would be suicidal, and besides… why should I want to be King? I don't have the will, the means or the skill.'

Saethryn shook her head. 'I won't lie to you, Sire; I cannot see how it will happen any more than you can. But I trust Arthryn's foresights. They have never been wrong in the past. But whether you be King or not, you are still one of us, and you are more than welcome here. All our knowledge and secrets are available to you. Ask any of us to do something for you, and it shall be done. But tell me… what is your name? Forgive me; I did not think to ask.'

'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii,' said Galbatorix.

Saethryn closed her eyes. 'Ah. Taranisäii. That is a name I know very well. But to us you are Galbatorix Traeganni. Take either name as you will; both are ancient and noble, both worthy of you. And there is another one here who has been overlooked.' She looked past Galbatorix toward Laela, who had watched the entire exchange from a distance. The white dragon's eyes widened in surprise, but she came forward, moving as delicately as she could. She lowered her snout toward Saethryn, who touched it with her long fingers.

A silence followed. Not an uncomfortable one. Galbatorix, looking on, could sense an unspoken communication passing between Saethryn and Laela. It went on for some time, and then Saethryn bowed her head to Laela, saying; 'You too are welcome here, Laela. We dark elves do not usually associate with dragons, but we honour your kind. All that we ask is that you do not hunt in land too close to this valley. We cannot risk discovery.'

Laela dipped her head and growled softly to signify her agreement. In the privacy of his head, Galbatorix heard her say; _'She spoke to me! Just like you do! I can't believe it!'_

'Now,' said Saethryn, addressing Galbatorix again; 'If you would become one of us, then go with Arthryn. She will show you what you must do. Later we will meet here again, and talk. There are many things I want to ask you about, and no doubt you have questions for me.'

'Yes, my Lady,' said Galbatorix.

He bowed to Saethryn and the other nobles, and followed Arthryn out of the clearing. The old seer led him out of the clearing in a different direction than the one they had entered by. They walked through the trees to the bank of the steam, and followed it toward the opposite mountain. Here, Galbatorix saw the homes of the dark elves. They had built simple shelters out of pine branches woven together and covered with mats of dry needles. Snow had mounded around them and been deliberately piled onto them, turning some of those in more open areas into what appeared to be snow-hills with entrances. Small, black fires burnt in little fireplaces outside these shelters, and he could see wooden frames set up here and there among the trees, some bearing rows of drying meat or fish, others draped in newly-dyed black cloth left to dry by the fire.

And the dark elves were everywhere, warming themselves by their campfires, sharpening the strange sickle-shaped weapons they used, fletching arrows or fishing in the stream. A pair of dark elvish men looked up from skinning and butchering a stag and silently watched him pass. There were a few children about, too; big-eyed and curious. They did not laugh or chatter like human children, but some followed Galbatorix for a while along the stream, apparently fascinated by him. They were just as powerfully interested in Laela, and were bold enough to walk along under her wings and touch her scales, albeit cautiously. She liked that, and snapped playfully at them, snickering when they ran away in fright.

Galbatorix took it all in with wonder. He had been right when he had said that dark elves were not like the Southern elves. They were the same in some ways, but so different. Although their way of life looked rough and much harder, it did not mean that they were not elegant or beautiful in their own way; they were. Bone discs hung from some of the trees, carved with intricate patterns of spirals and crescent moons. Many of the elves he saw were tattooed; their cheeks, foreheads and necks were patterned with dark blue whorls and spiral designs. It made them look fierce, and a little alien, but after a while he decided that there was a certain beauty about them as well.

After a while the shelters ran out, and the forest became thicker and darker. There Laela had to stop.

'I am sorry, _draig,'_ said Arthryn. 'You must wait here.'

Laela sat back on her haunches. 'Go, then,' she said aloud. 'I'll wait.'

Arthryn bowed, and walked on. Galbatorix glanced apologetically at Laela before he followed her.

It was much quieter here. The stream made a whispering sound over the stones, and the tree-trunks looked darker. By now night had nearly fallen, and the light had gone dim and grey. It was barely enough to see by, but Arthryn didn't seem to have any problems navigating. Perhaps dark elves had better night vision than humans. Galbatorix stayed close to her for fear of losing his way. There was just enough light for him to see that patterns had been carved into the trees along the bank of the stream. He ran his fingers over one as he passed, and saw that it was a crescent moon. There was another one on the next tree, and on the next, and as he walked on he realised they were slowly changing, moving through the different phases of the moon. Waxing and waning, from crescent to half, to full, and then back to crescent once more.

By the time they reached the final phase, the stream and their path also ended. There was another clearing here, this one much smaller. The stream ran into a large pool, which swirled gently, its surface shimmering silver.

Arthryn halted there. 'This is the sacred pool,' she said. 'Here we come to say our devotions to the gods.'

'You have gods?' said Galbatorix, slightly surprised.

The old seer smiled a little. 'Indeed. Unlike our Southern kin we recognise the need for hope in an uncertain world. We venerate the moon. In this pool the moonlight is reflected every night, and that is when we conduct our rituals. I am the High Priestess and it is my role to speak and teach on religious matters. That is why I was not made Queen instead of Saethryn. The moon and its phases have many important meanings in our way of life. The full moon is the time to perform great deeds of magic, the crescent moon is a time to fight, the new moon a time to contemplate. It so happens that tonight will mark the most powerful phase of all – the perfect time to make you one of our tribe.'

Galbatorix glanced up. It was nearly night, and the stars were beginning to come out, but the moon would not rise for some time. 'What do I do until then?' he asked.

'Until the moon rises we will sit by the pool and I will tell you of the moon and its powers, and of other things as well. Understanding must come before all else.' Arthryn moved to a clear spot by the side of the pool, and sat down cross-legged, motioning to Galbatorix to do the same. He obeyed, saying nothing and waiting for Arthryn to begin, which she did a few moments of silence.

'There are many powers in this ancient land of ours,' she intoned, not taking her eyes away from him all the while. Like all her people she had a very direct stare. 'Different races choose to venerate different things. The dwarves venerate stone. The urgals venerate combat. Humans…' she smiled slightly. 'Well, they have many gods. Of all the races, humans are the fastest to change. The Southern elves look down on them because they are short-lived and seem primitive, but humans are in fact the most hardy of all races. It is they, and not elves, who have overrun this land. They did not rely on magic to become as great as they have; instead it was their intelligence, their curiosity, their willingness to change that brought them to where they are. We recognise this, and that is why we do not look down on you for being half-human. The Southern elves believe that to mingle elvish and human blood is an abomination, for it mixes human weakness with elvish strength and taints it. But it is because they do not recognise the true strength that humans possess. We believe that by interbreeding, by creating half-blooded people such as yourself, we do nothing but good to both races. In you are strengths from both races. You are silent and graceful like a dark elf. You can use magic as we do, you have our mental powers and our hardiness. But your other qualities, your human qualities, these are strengths as well, strengths that the dark elves do not possess. You are passionate and willing to learn, you allow yourself to change as the world changes around you. You do not cling to old beliefs simply because they are old. You have those things which humans have and which the dark elves envy, and in this way you are better than us. But we can teach you the things you had no means to learn before. You have lived as a human all your life, and you know human ways. But only we can teach you our ways and our strengths. From us you can learn how to control and use the talents and abilities you were born with but do not yet fully understand. We can teach you how to run like a deer, fight like a wolf, see like an eagle. We can show you how to meld your mind with the forces around you and use them to your own ends, we can teach you dark elvish magic – magic which can do things that the ancient language neither understands nor creates. We can show you how to move silently, to be one with the shadows and to creep up on your enemies like a whisper on the breeze. When it is done you will be like us, yet not like us. You will have our powers, but you will not be bound to use them in any way other than what you see fit. This is our gift to you, the moon's gift.'

Galbatorix listened closely, his heart pounding. 'How long will it take?' he asked.

Arthryn shrugged. 'As long as it needs to. Now tell me… the moon will rise soon, and my acolytes are gathering. They will be here in a few moments. Is there anything you want to know? I will answer any question you ask as best I can.'

Galbatorix thought carefully about it. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but he wanted to choose the one that was the most pressing. Eventually he said; 'Queen Saethryn said she knew the name of Taranisäii. How?'

Arthryn smiled. 'Ah. Yes… we know that name, and we know the name of Taranis as well. It will take some time to explain, but I will do my best. Long ago, when the Southern elves and the dragons fought, we dark elves were still living in our old lands, which our ancestors had owned. We knew that there was a power that existed in dragons which could, in the right circumstances, bind a dragon hatchling to a human or an elf. We do not know how this power came to be; many believe it was simply an accident. But however it was, we knew what it meant. If an elf or a human was bonded to a dragon, they would become many times more powerful than the rest of his kind. It would create a symbiosis that would bring peace between dragons and the other races, and thus peace in Alagaësia. But the wild dragons are fierce and proud, and very dangerous if they are not bonded. They will attack anyone who violates their territory. We knew this very well, because our people once lived in the Spine. The Southern elves were our enemies and had frequently fought with us in the past, and we knew that if it was they who made peace with the dragons and thus gained control of the riders when they began to be created, it would make them all-powerful and thus spell our doom – along with the doom of all other races that had rivalled them in the past. We were desperate to find some way of creating a dark elvish rider, one who would lead our people and help us forge an alliance with the dragons. At first it seemed we would win, for the dragons were not at war with us. In time we were successful in obtaining a dragon egg – it had been abandoned by its mother, and one of our people found it. That egg was brought back to our settlement and handled by every one of us, but it would not hatch. It seemed all hope was lost. But then, one day, something happened that changed everything. A human came hunting in the Spine and he happened upon our village. He was just a simple village boy, but we welcomed him and gave him food and shelter, because he was lost and had not eaten in some time. He was shown the egg… and that night a miracle took place. The dragon hatched and bonded herself to that boy, and the first rider was created.'

'But the first rider was an elf!' Galbatorix protested. 'His name was-,'

'Eragon,' said Arthryn. 'Yes. But he was the second rider, not the first. The Southern elves lied when they claimed he was the first. But they believed he was the first _true_ rider because he was one of their own. What Southern elf could accept that the first rider was no elf but a mere human? Ach. Their arrogance disgusts me. But however it was, the dark elves taught the new rider everything they knew – how to fight, how to lead, how to wield magic… all the arts of a rider. They were prepared to make him their King, human though he was. Can you guess what the boy's name was?'

'Taranis,' Galbatorix breathed.

Arthryn nodded. 'Taranis, the first rider. The great sword that he wielded was made for him by us. Taranis was to have been the one who led us to glory and to victory over the light elves. But he was the hope we lost. He would not stay with us. Once his dragon, Silarae, was grown, he abandoned us and returned to his own kind. We had been mistaken in him; he allowed his newfound power to corrupt him, and for the rest of his life he used it to win power for himself. Then the Southern elves found a rider of their own. When he killed Taranis, he killed all possibility that the riders would be a separate power in the land. They forged an alliance with the dragons and the riders were born – riders trained and controlled by the Southern elves. And from that time onward, the Southern elves began to take control. Through the riders they laid waste to all other races, even humans. The humans were kept because they, too, could become riders, and they bred much more quickly and prolifically than elves – there were so many of them. All loyal subjects for the riders, and fresh blood to add to their ranks and so increase their power. Taranis failed us all by his betrayal, but at the same time he gave us our last hope – you. He founded the line that you descended from, and so he fulfilled his promise from beyond the grave. You see, when he was with the dark elves he was promised to a dark elvish maiden who we hoped would bear him half-breed children. By mingling his blood with ours, we could strengthen ourselves. But though Taranis abandoned both us and his bride, his promise has been kept – his blood has been mixed with ours, and not with any dark elvish blood, but with that of the royal line. You are the rider that Taranis should have been, and it is you who will lay waste to the Southern elves and their riders. Prophecy or no, you are precious to us.'

Her words were soft, almost hypnotic, and Galbatorix could hardly believe what she told him. It turned his world upside-down. He had felt ashamed of his inheritance for so long, but now he was being told this it suddenly wasn't so clear-cut any more.

'What did you see?' he asked her. 'In the dream you had… what did you see?'

'I saw you,' said Arthryn. 'As clearly as I see you now in front of me. The eyes of a dark elf, the ears of a human, bearing a white sword and wearing a silver crown. You were older, much older, scarred and hardened, and lonely, so lonely. I saw you alone in darkness, fighting a hundred shadowy foes. I saw you lead great armies in battle and lay waste to your enemies. I did not see a boy, as I see now. I saw a mighty general, a leader of men. I saw a great King, greater than any that have gone before. But beware, Sire, beware. Pain, loss, betrayal… these things lie ahead of you and you cannot escape from them. I saw you standing alone, your sword in your hand and shock on your face, and there was a knife embedded in your heart. I saw you die a hundred deaths, only to rise again like the moon at night. This road you must travel will be a hard one, harder than any man or elf could comprehend. But your greatness will lie in your ability to continue to walk it, on and on, no matter what sorrows drag you down, on beyond all mortal time or understanding and into legend and glory.' As she spoke these last words, Arthryn slowly rose to her feet, while behind her the moon appeared, drifting inevitably up and over the treetops. It was huge, hanging overhead like a mighty, looming presence. And it was not full, as he had expected, but a half-moon, shaped like a dragon's eye.

Galbatorix rose as well, feeling a strange heaviness inside him. He could see Arthryn's fathomless black eyes, glowing silver as the moonlight reflected off them, and in them he saw a terrible power. He knew that he was looking into the eyes, not just of his grandmother, but of fate itself. His fate.

'It is time,' Arthryn whispered. 'My acolytes are gathered. Look into the pool, Sire.'

Galbatorix obeyed. He saw the moon on the surface of the water, rippling and shimmering.

'The moon is the eye of the gods,' said Arthryn. 'Through it they watch us, and we must look back without flinching.'

Galbatorix looked up, and started slightly. Six dark elves were standing around Arthryn in a circle, their heads bowed. He had not heard them arrive. Just as before, they had simply… appeared. Every single one of them had a different phase of the moon tattooed onto their forehead.

'Take off your clothes,' Arthryn commanded.

Galbatorix obeyed, stripping off his torn tunic and trousers and setting aside his boots. Clad in only his underclothes, he stood and shivered in the icy air.

Arthryn, looking at him, suddenly wore a strange, satisfied expression. 'Ah,' she sighed, looking at his shoulder. 'I see it now.' Around her, the acolytes murmured softly.

It took Galbatorix a moment to realise what they were looking at. He touched the tattoo on his shoulder. 'What is it, Arthryn?'

'You have the mark of the King,' said Arthryn.

'It's just a tattoo.'

'It is the dark elvish symbol for a King,' said Arthryn.

'It's Taranis' sign.'

'Indeed. And we are the ones who gave it to him. Now, Galbatorix Traeganni, it is time for you to shed your old self and take up a new way. Look into the eye of the moon once more, and submerge yourself in it. Wash away your past and be renewed.'

Galbatorix looked at the water again, and realised what she meant by this. He could see ice around the edge of the pond, and cringed. 'But the water must be-,'

'You can bear it,' said Arthryn. 'You are a dark elf. Go, now.'

Galbatorix gritted his teeth and plunged into the pool.

It was agony. The water was icy cold, nearly frozen. It hit him like a hundred knives stabbing into his flesh, needling at him. His extremities went numb in seconds, and he could no longer feel his fingers at all. He let out a little cry of pain, turning automatically to climb out again.

'No,' Arthryn commanded. 'You must submerge yourself. Embrace the cold. Embrace yourself.'

Galbatorix couldn't bear it. But he forced himself to. This was a test, and one he would not let himself fail. He turned away from the bank, and dived into the depths of the pool, letting the water close over his head and take him for its own.

It was much deeper than he had thought. He made some attempt to stay up, but his limbs seized up and he sank toward the bottom.

Now the cold had him. His head ached savagely, red lights flashed in front of his eyes, every inch of skin felt as if it were freezing and cracking apart. He couldn't move his arms and legs any more, and as the pool claimed him he knew that it was killing him.

But then, in the very same instant that he realised that, something happened. It was as if a door inside him had opened, and something came rushing through. A powerful, uncontrollable feeling flooded through him, filling every inch of him with its power. It was something he had felt before, but only in its smallest measure, and now he felt its full strength for the first time. It was a will, a drive, an instinct to do only one thing – survive. And that feeling was hot and vital, and it took hold of him and made him feel as if he had just woken up.

Before it, the numbing grip of the water suddenly became irrelevant, even feeble. He could not let it stop him. Not for anything.

With a burst of energy he thrust toward the surface, forcing his arms to work as hard as they could. His head broke through the surface and he began to swim steadily back toward the shore. His feet touched the bottom and he walked out, soaking wet and trembling, but with his head held high. He had made it.

Arthryn and her acolytes were waiting for him. The old seer handed him a black robe, and he put it on immediately, his fingers weak and clumsy. It was warm and thick, and he wrapped himself in it with a feeling of immense relief. An acolyte wordlessly handed him a silver cup, and he drank deeply from it without stopping to find out what was inside it.

It was a strong, sweet spiced wine, and it warmed him from end to end. He emptied the cup and gave it to Arthryn, who took it and said; 'Well done, Sire. Do not tell anyone what you experienced in the pool, not even your dragon. It is between you and the gods.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I understand.'

Arthryn laid a hand on his forehead. 'You are one of us now, Galbatorix Traeganni of the dark elves. May the moon watch over you, may you be blessed by the gods and the great magic that binds us all, and may your future be happy and prosperous.' Reverting to her native language, she said; '_Yn bendith ar warthaf dy, aym byth_.'


	20. Among the Dark Elves

Chapter Twenty

Among the Dark Elves

And from that day forth, Galbatorix was a dark elf. His initiation complete, he returned with Arthryn to Queen Saethryn's fire. The fire had nearly tripled in size since he'd last seen it, and what looked like the entire dark elvish tribe had gathered around it. There were fewer of them than he'd thought – about thirty all told, including children. They sat cross-legged, talking in low voices. They certainly appeared to be quite a sombre people, but the occasional laugh rose above the conversation. Saethryn and the other nobles sat at the head of the fire in a dignified group, and Galbatorix was instantly guided toward them. He sat by Saethryn's right-hand side, and Laela joined him, sitting on her haunches by his side and forcing a dozen elves to move out of her way, which they did with good grace.

Food was brought for both of them; roasted venison and rabbit, fish and watercress, various strange fruits and lichens, iced mushrooms, a kind of bread made from acorns, and plenty of warm mead and wine. Galbatorix ate heartily, very glad after having gone so long without proper food. With every bite he felt new strength come into him, and he sighed and let the warmth of the fire soothe his aches and pains.

The dark elves now proved a lot more talkative than before, and all those who were close enough to him wanted to ask him questions about his life. He answered them as well as he could, and later on Saethryn invited him to tell his story for the whole tribe to hear.

Which he did, as best he could, telling them all about his life, beginning with his upbringing in Teirm. He gave them the account of his parents' deaths as he had read it in the records, and then talked about himself – his becoming a dragon rider, his training, his romance with Flell, the rivalry with Vrael, the fight with the Ra'zac, the forging of White Violence, his time in Teirm, the attack on Laela, and finally, in a subdued voice, Flell's betrayal, the death sentence and their escape from Ilirea. The dark elves listened, occasionally shaking their heads or muttering sympathetically.

Once he had done, Queen Saethryn said; 'A sad story, Sire, but one with some significant implications. From your actions we can see that, although you are a rider, you are not _of_ them – you resisted all attempts to make you mindlessly follow the ways of the Southern elves and kept your own mind. You have acted like a dark elf in many ways; you have kept your own counsel, and questioned rather than destroyed. Because of you a race has been saved from destruction – that Ra'zac you spared may indeed return to help you some day. And the fact that you reached so far into the inner workings of the riders shows us something important. Once they would have carefully vetted every new applicant who came to handle the dragon's eggs, but their arrogance has lulled them into a false sense of security. They failed to discover your secret, and no doubt you would have been able to live as one of them for many centuries, undisturbed, if you had not been betrayed. The riders made a fatal mistake in making you one of their own but then betraying you; they have made an enemy of you – one more dangerous than they realise.'

'They betrayed me,' Galbatorix agreed. 'But I don't want to fight them. I wouldn't stand a chance, and anyway, they're still… I still respect them, and I don't want to kill any of them.'

'Even one man may make all the difference,' said Saethryn. 'And when that man is a rider… one day you will change the world. Arthryn's prophecy cannot be wrong.'

The moon was well overhead by this time, and as the group around the fire talked on an eerie sound disturbed the silence from the forest all about. It was the howl of a wolf; long and piercing and mournful. It was difficult to tell where it was coming from, but it was answered a few seconds later by the voices of an entire pack, somewhere in the forest.

The dark elves looked up at the sound, their expressions alert but not disturbed. No doubt they were used to it by now.

Saethryn smiled. 'I think our visitor is returning,' she said.

Galbatorix glanced around, but saw no-one. 'Visitor?'

Saethryn pointed at the trees. 'He is coming now.'

A group of dark elves on the opposite side of the fire moved aside to let the newcomer through, and Galbatorix started.

It was a wolf. A huge, black wolf with shaggy fur and powerful shoulders. It was dragging the carcass of a deer behind it. The dark elves showed no sign of fear when they saw it; in fact they let the creature into their circle without a murmur. The wolf dropped its prey beside the fire, and immediately a group of elves came forward, drawing their knives. They quickly and efficiently skinned the deer and spitted it over the fire. The wolf let them do so, and padded straight toward Queen Saethryn. She bowed her head to it and reached out to touch its head. The wolf growled softly, but let her run her fingers over the silky fur between its ears. Its eyes were burning gold and disconcertingly alert.

Galbatorix looked on curiously. 'A tame wolf?' he suggested.

The wolf whipped around to face him, suddenly crouching low, teeth bared. It growled, not gently this time, but loudly and savagely.

Galbatorix drew back slightly, but stared back at the wolf, being careful to make no sudden moves. It reminded him almost instantly of Ilia, the wild dragon, and he reached out with his mind to soothe the creature. To his astonishment it seemed to have been expecting that, and he found himself fiercely repelled.

'Be careful,' Saethryn warned. 'He is proud. And certainly not tame,' she added.

Galbatorix made eye-contact with the wolf. 'I am a friend,' he told it in the ancient language, hoping it would understand.

The wolf relaxed suddenly, sitting back on its haunches, the growl dying away. It seemed to grin at him. And then it _changed._ Its great shaggy body shifted and warped, the fur retreating back into its skin, the paws lengthening, the snout melding back into the face. In seconds the change was complete, and where the wolf had sat there was a boy. He looked about seventeen, very pale and slender, much like a dark elf but with rounded ears. His hair was black and shaggy like the wolf's fur, and his eyes were burning gold.

Galbatorix let out a yell of fright, reaching automatically for his sword.

The boy grinned at him. It was a very wolfish expression. There was a stirring from the crowd and a dark elf appeared, carrying a black robe. He gave it to the boy, who pulled it on, not taking his eyes off Galbatorix. 'So,' he said, speaking at last. 'This is your King, is it, Saethryn?' his voice was flat and disinterested. He looked Galbatorix up and down, unreadable. 'He doesn't look like a King to me.'

'Sire, this is Faegareth,' said Saethryn. 'Like you, he is unique.'

Galbatorix recovered his dignity with some effort. 'You're a werewolf, are you?' he said.

The boy, Faegareth, moved away to sit on Saethryn's other side. 'The werewolves are all dead,' he said briefly. 'I am a shapeshifter. Most likely the last of my race.'

Galbatorix's eyes widened. 'Oh! A shapeshifter? I read about your people in the old records.'

Faegareth looked at him, slightly bored. 'A good read, was it?'

Galbatorix pulled himself together. He stood up and walked toward Faegareth, then bowed to him. 'It's an honour to meet you, Faegareth,' he said. 'I am sorry for what the riders did to your people. Truly.'

Faegareth listened, his head on one side, and made a small sound of satisfaction. 'So you do know your manners,' he said. 'Good. What is your name, half-breed?'

'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii. Of Teirm.'

'Soon to be King of Alagaësia,' Faegareth supplied.

Galbatorix glanced at Saethryn. 'Actually, I would rather avoid it.'

Faegareth grinned again. 'Good. Every King I've ever met has been an idiot. I think I like you, Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix returned to his spot as politely as he could, and Faegareth paid no more attention to him after that. But he surreptitiously watched the shapeshifter, unable to hide his curiosity. He wondered if Faegareth was the surviving shapeshifter the records mentioned as having been seen lurking around the edges of various settlements. He did not look very old, but he must have lived an extremely fraught life. An outcast from birth.

A young-looking dark elvish maiden had shuffled her way through the circle to the shapeshifter's side, and now she snuggled against him, casting flirtatious glances at his face. Faegareth immediately lost all interest in everyone around him and turned his attentions toward her.

Galbatorix watched them for a few seconds, then looked away, embarrassed. Behind him, Laela snickered.

'Faegareth has been with us for a long time,' said Saethryn, ignoring the spectacle. 'We call him "Faen-Tyarnadd" – thousand faces. He comes and goes as he pleases.'

Faegareth looked up from his lover. 'Don't think I'll bow down before this boy-king of yours, Saethryn.'

'You know perfectly well that I would not ask you to do anything you did not wish to do, Faen-Tyarnadd,' Saethryn said calmly. 'Nor do I think you would do it if I asked.'

'Actually, I don't particularly want to see anyone bow to me,' Galbatorix put in, unable to stop himself. 'I think that's a right I should have to earn first.'

Saethryn seemed pleased by that. 'Good,' she said. 'I have no use for arrogance. If you ask him, Faegareth may choose to teach you what he knows of fighting and magic. But treat him with respect. His race was one of the oldest and most powerful in Alagaësia before the riders destroyed it.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I understand.'

He spent that night in a dark elvish shelter, curled up on a bed of furs. It was surprisingly warm inside, especially after Laela curled herself around the outside and let her body block out the wind. He slept more deeply than he had ever done before, his fingers curled and mouth slightly open. And he dreamed.

He saw himself. But not himself. He saw a version of himself that he had never seen or imagined before.

He saw a dark shadow that rose from the ground and came to life. It formed itself into the shape of a man – him. But this was a him who towered over all else, his eyes blazing with horrible cold power. The sword in his hand burnt with white fire, and his hands were soaked and dripping with blood.

The huge vision pointed at him, like some dark shadow of death choosing a victim, its face full of hatred. Its voice filled the air, loud and biting. _COME_.

He tried to run from the vision, but no matter where he went it was always there in front of him, filling him with its awful presence, and there was no escape. _Help me!_ he cried. And help came. Laela. She was there in moments, her white scales lighting the darkness. She flew toward the vision of himself and touched it with her snout, and it dwindled away, shrinking back to ordinary human size, the blood disappearing from it hands, the sword crumbling to dust, the shadows falling away until all that was left was… him. Just him, just a boy, and he found himself looking out through its eyes because, after all, they were the same person.

He touched Laela's snout. _Save me, Freslae._

But then Arthryn was there. She shook him awake, bringing him out of the dream, and when he opened his eyes she said; 'Good morning, Sire. Come. Your training begins today.'

And so it did, and every bit as intensely as it had been in Ilirea.

He spent that first day being shown around the dark elvish settlement, and was introduced to the various elves who would be teaching him. There was Ystwelyn, a master swordsman who would teach him the art of fighting – not just with swords and bows, but also hand-to-hand. Arthryn herself would instruct him in magic and other arcane knowledge, and Saethryn insisted on teaching him the art of rulership – how to lead not just a city, but a nation. And from the whole tribe he learnt how to live like a dark elf. He learnt how to walk silently, how to vanish into a shadow, how to stalk a deer through the forest and bring it down with nothing but a dagger. He learned how to climb like a squirrel and perch for hours on a branch, not moving at all, taking everything in.

These new skills came naturally to him, but that did not mean they came easily. They didn't. They were as hard and harder than the things he had learnt from Vrael, and as his training progressed they became yet harder. But he rose to the challenge as best he could, never complaining, pushing himself to his limits. He began to learn the rudiments of the dark elvish tongue, which could, just like the ancient language, control magic – but not the magic of the riders. This was dark elvish magic. Magic that could do things he had never dreamed of. He learnt how to create the ever-burning black fire, which could not be spotted from a distance and which needed no fuel. And there were other spells that Arthryn taught him which he never used, spells so powerful that a single person could not cast.

'Magic is the force which fuels every force in the world,' the seer explained. 'It can, in theory, be used to do anything. It is only limited by whoever casts it. Magic could move a mountain, but no magician – human, elf, dragon, urgal – could possibly channel or control the amount of force it would require. There are spells we know which have never been used successfully, but which we know could work under the right circumstances.'

She taught him many of these spells, and when he learned about them – what they could do, and what it took to do them – he began to understand why the Southern elves hated them so much. It was out of fear. Dark elvish magic could do unspeakably terrible things. When he dared to mention this, Arthryn said; 'Yes. And that is why many of these spells have never been attempted; to do so would be a crime against all races. But the knowledge should not be suppressed or destroyed. Only by acknowledging that these things exist, yet never succumbing to the temptation, can we prove that we are better than that.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' said Galbatorix.

Arthryn shook her head. 'If you would prefer to live in darkness, put out your eyes. Don't try and put out the sun.'

That didn't make any sense to him either, but he respected the seer too much by now to say so.

One person he was truly interested to learn from was Faegareth, but the shapeshifter remained frustratingly elusive. He was often around, but rarely in human form. Galbatorix would look up and see a golden-eyed crow or wolf vanish into the trees from where it had been watching him. Faegareth was certainly unreserved about his powers; he would slip from one form to another as casually as one might change his shirt, not seeming to care if anyone saw him naked after he took on his human shape. His attitude toward other people was a little difficult to judge; he kept apart and was quiet and reserved, yet seemed to respect the dark elves. While he avoided showing an open interest in Galbatorix, it was plain that he was indeed interested and observing his training from afar. One day Galbatorix found him lounging on a tree-branch in his human shape, and stopped to talk to him.

'How old are you?' he asked. 'If you don't mind my asking.'

Faegareth regarded him calmly for a few moments before he replied. 'I am two thousand years old.'

Galbatorix was astonished, but did his best to hide it. Talking to Faegareth made it very easy to end up feeling foolish. 'I've seen you in many shapes,' he said. 'But which one is actually you?'

'All of them,' said Faegareth.

'But what shape were born in?'

'I was born in wolf form,' said Faegareth. 'But my people have no fixed shape. We assume the same shape in order to, uh, conceive, and mothers remain pregnant no matter what shape they take afterwards. When it is time to give birth, the child is born in whatever shape the mother is in at the time. We can hatch from eggs, be spawned, born grown… whichever way is right for that shape. As for me, my mother raised me as a wolf cub until I was old enough to learn how to change.'

'It must be lonely,' said Galbatorix.

Faegareth raised his eyebrows. 'Oh?'

'Having no shape of your own,' said Galbatorix. 'Doesn't it ever make you feel lost?'

'Sometimes, maybe,' said Faegareth, sounding unconcerned. 'But why should we hanker after something we never lost? Do you ever miss being unable to breathe fire? Of course not.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I see what you mean. What's it like to change? Does it hurt?'

Faegareth paused to think about it. 'It doesn't hurt, no. Or not in an unpleasant way. I doubt anyone who has never tried it could really understand it.'

They were silent for a time. Galbatorix sat down beneath the tree, cross-legged like a dark elf. 'What do you think about all this, Faegareth?' he asked eventually. 'This whole… King thing.'

'I don't put much store in prophecies,' said Faegareth. 'Some are true, some are false.'

'But is _Arthryn's_ prophecy false?'

Faegareth paused. 'I've never known her to be wrong.'

'So what do you think about it?' said Galbatorix. 'I can't help but be curious.'

Faegareth glanced down at him. 'You want to know what I think?'

'I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.'

Faegareth nodded slightly. 'To be honest, you don't look like a King to me, and I find it hard to imagine that it could ever come to pass. You're intelligent and you know how to fight; you're learning fast – you'll be a dark elf through and through before long. Whether you're a leader I can't tell yet, but you made it this far so you're not weak or a fool. As for me, I've lived too long and seen many Kings come and go to care much. Some good, some bad. If you're to be the next one, so be it.'

'I don't want to be a King,' said Galbatorix.

'Then don't be,' said Faegareth. 'It's your choice.'

'What about the riders, though? They wiped out your people; you must hate them.'

'Races rise and races fall,' said Faegareth, with a hint of resignation in his voice. 'I miss my people all the time. We weren't very social; we lived alone for most of our lives. But there is a difference between being alone because you choose to be and being alone because there is no-one to go to. If you know there are people living out there who remember you and care about you, it's enough to give you strength. But when they're gone forever… that's hard.'

'Why did the riders destroy them?' said Galbatorix. 'Did your people do something they didn't like?'

'Oh, the Southern elves,' said Faegareth, almost carelessly. 'They're pathetically predictable. Racist, to be blunt about it. They have a very narrow view of the world. One world, one way, one people. You already know _which_ people. They disliked us because we were a link between races. We could interbreed with any people we chose. Human, elf, animal, dragon… even Ra'zac and urgals. The shapeshifters were, shall we say, notoriously promiscuous. We produced what the elves could not stand. The very thing that's sitting underneath me right now, in fact.'

'Half-breeds,' Galbatorix muttered.

'Indeed. Racial purity is something the Southern elves have always obsessed about. So they destroyed us. There weren't many purebred shapeshifters left; we had interbred to the point that most of us were half-breeds who could only take on two or three shapes. Weredragons, werewolves, creatures like that were half-breeds. They were easy enough to find and kill. It took a very long time for the last of us to be found and destroyed, but by now the extinction of the shapeshifters is all but complete. As far as I know, I am the only one left. One day, perhaps, I'll go looking for others. If I could find a female from my race…' he made a short, contemptuous sound and stopped speaking.

'You shouldn't give up hope,' said Galbatorix. 'I thought my own race was dead, but I found them.'

Faegareth glanced down at him, not without amusement. 'How old are you human?'

'Nineteen.'

'When you are as old as I am, I think you'll find your perspective changing a little,' said Faegareth.

'I don't doubt it,' said Galbatorix, privately wondering if he would live that long. It was difficult to imagine.

As for Laela, she was left to her own devices. The dark elves were respectful toward her, but not overly interested in her, and she found herself increasingly lonely and alienated. Before she knew what was happening, Galbatorix had been almost completely absorbed into the tribe. She hardly saw him any more except in the evenings, and then he was full of talk about the things he was learning and took very little time to ask after her own wellbeing. She accepted it patiently, reminding herself that he must be excited and that at least they were safe now, but as the weeks wore on it began to rankle more and more. She listened to Galbatorix's account of his talk with Faegareth with a little more interest, however.

'_It sounds like he was awfully relaxed about it,'_ Laela observed when he was done.

Galbatorix nodded. _'I expected him to be a little more, well, angry. But he wasn't. I suppose it was such a long time ago that he's accepted it.'_

There was silence for a time.

'_So,'_ said Galbatorix. _'What did you do today?'_

'_The same thing as yesterday,'_ said Laela. _'Nothing.'_

'_Oh. I suppose it must be boring… we haven't talked much lately, have we?'_

'_No,'_ said Laela.

'_What do you think of this place, Laela?'_

'_It's strange,' _said Laela. _'It's… I keep seeing you everywhere I look. It's so strange – you never looked like other humans, but here… here I can see people who remind me of you all the time. You move like them, you know.'_

'_Oh. Is that bad?'_

'_No. Just odd. You were right, Galbatorix. They're your people. You fit in with them like you were born here.'_

'_You don't sound completely happy about that,'_ said Galbatorix. _'What's wrong, Laela?'_

Laela hesitated, her tail twitching slightly in the snow. _'Well,'_ she blurted, _'Well, I just… it's not that I'm not happy that you found them, but…'_

'_But what?'_

Laela raised her head to look at him. _'Is this going to be our life now, Galbatorix? Are we going to stay here for the rest of our lives? Is this what you're going to do? Become a dark elf?'_

'_Why not?'_

'_Is it really what you want?'_ Laela asked seriously.

For some reason that made him angry. _'Laela, what's wrong with you? Don't you know what this means for me?'_

'_I'm not sure I do. Tell me.'_

'_I've found my family, Laela. I've found the thing I've been looking for all my life.'_ He waved his hands about as he spoke, something he often did when he was feeling particularly impassioned about something. _'Ever since I was a child I've never quite felt like I fitted in anywhere. Nowhere ever felt like home. But this is where I belong, don't you understand? This is my home, my family. The dark elvish ways… they're _my_ ways. How can you think that's a bad thing?'_

Laela dug her claws into the ground, churning up earth and snow. _'Calm down. I didn't mean to upset you. Of course it's a good thing. But… it's just that… well, the fact that you never fitted in is one of the things I always loved best about you. It made you unique.'_

'_I'm still unique,' _said Galbatorix. _'I'm still a half-breed, aren't I? Nothing can change that. Isn't it enough?'_

'_I don't know,'_ Laela said wretchedly. _'I shouldn't be upset about it, I know that. I suppose I'm just having trouble with how things are changing. It just feels like… well, before, back there-,'_ she moved her wing, pointing the spiked joint forward to vaguely indicate the direction in which lay Ilirea and their past life, _'I used to feel like I was the only one who understood you. When you came to me because you were lonely or uncertain, those were the times I felt closest to you. And now we're here, I feel like you don't need me any more.'_

Galbatorix moved closer to her, scratching her horns with his fingertips. _'Oh, Laela,'_ he said. _'Don't be silly. I always need you. You know that. No-one will ever take me away from you.'_

'_Well, all right,'_ Laela mumbled, closing her eyes in embarrassment. _'But I'm still bored. I've got no-one to talk to.'_

'_I'm sorry, Laela. I've been neglecting you, haven't I? Well, I'll make it up to you. Tomorrow we'll go flying, and training be damned. All right?'_

True to his word, on the following day he excused himself from his lessons and he and Laela went flying together. They left the valley on foot, to avoid attracting attention to its location, and once they were well away from it they took to the air.

They flew on over the Icelands for quite a long way, exploring the great mountains that lay beyond. The climate became even colder the further they went, and in the end the forests ran out and they found themselves flying over an endless icy waste with no sign of anything living anywhere. Beyond that was the sea, dotted with massive icebergs.

The flight took them hours, but they both enjoyed it. Simply spending some time together was what they had both been unconsciously longing for, and as always they gloried in the shared experience of flight and discovery.

They flew back as the sun began to set. It was full night by the time they reached the valley of the dark elves once again, and they returned to Saethryn's clearing, breathless and laughing. The Queen of the dark elves was waiting for them, and beside her were Faegareth in his human form and-

Galbatorix and Laela stopped dead.

It was a dragon. A dragon only a little bigger than Laela, but obviously ancient. Its scales were dark brown, almost black, rough and dull with age. The wings were pale and ragged, but the eyes were burning gold, and the dragon's stance was full of grace and power, its head broad and noble of expression.

'Welcome back, Sire,' said Saethryn, who was looking perfectly composed as she always did. 'And you, Laela. I have someone for you to meet. Please, come forward.'

Galbatorix obeyed. He walked straight toward the ancient dragon and bowed low. Laela did likewise, sensing, like him, that this dragon was at least as old as Nöst, and probably older. The dragon regarded them serenely.

Saethryn put her hand on the dragon's shoulder. 'This is Hyrenna,' she said. 'She is a plains dragon, the last of her race. Like Faegareth she came to us to be protected. The dark elves are masters of hiding, as you know.'

Galbatorix made mental contact with the dragon, as politely as he could. _'Greetings to you, Hyrenna,'_ he said. _'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii.'_

'_And I am Laela Snowscales,'_ Laela added.

Hyrenna put her head on one side and blinked once, slowly. Galbatorix thought he caught a hint of satisfaction in her eyes, but she said nothing.

'Hyrenna does not speak,' said Saethryn. 'She retreated into silence after her race was destroyed.'

Galbatorix looked at the ancient dragon, and for the first time he saw the hunch to her shoulders, and the way her wings drooped. 'I am sorry for your loss,' he said softly.

His right hand clenched by his side, and not for the first time he felt ashamed for being a rider. 'If I could undo what my people did, I would,' he told Hyrenna, laying a hand on his heart in the universal gesture of sincerity.

Hyrenna listened closely, and then sighed. It was a weary sound, but not an impatient one. She made mental contact with him and gently shared a feeling of understanding.

'Hyrenna has been with us for a long time,' Saethryn put in. 'She has been away for the last few weeks, hunting. And for the solitude. Wild dragons are not social creatures, but I'm sure she would appreciate your company, Laela.'

Laela stretched out her neck to touch Hyrenna's snout with her own. The old plains dragon sniffed at her, and the two dragons growled and nosed at each other, baring their teeth and making odd little hissing and snuffling sounds. Hyrenna nuzzled Laela's shoulders in an affectionate kind of way, and Laela said; _'I would be more than happy to.'_

After that, things were a little more settled. Laela began spending time with Hyrenna, tending to the old dragon with a gentleness and patience which surprised even Galbatorix. In the evenings when they met to talk and compare notes about their day, she talked affectionately about her. _'Even though she never speaks, she says so much with just her eyes. She's so sad, but so wise. And you know what?'_

'_What?'_ said Galbatorix. He was amused and pleased to hear the eagerness in Laela's voice.

'_She shared her memories with me,'_ Laela said proudly. _'Showed me pictures of her old life, just like you show me things sometimes. Do you know that the Hadarac desert wasn't always there? It used to be a big open plain with huge tall grasses growing on it – they looked like an ocean from above, when the wind blew. And the plains dragons lived there. They spent their whole lives in the open like that, hunting for wild horses. They dug hollows in the ground to lay their eggs, and the males helped to raise the youngsters… it was so beautiful, so peaceful. But then-,'_

'_The riders destroyed them,'_ Galbatorix supplied dully.

'_Yes, they did,'_ said Laela, losing her enthusiasm. _'They wanted the plains dragons to give them eggs, but they wouldn't. So they used magic to drain all the water out of the plains. The rivers dried up, the grasses died, all the game died of starvation. They thought the plains dragons would give up, but instead they fought back. Spread into the rest of Alagaësia and attacked human and elvish cities for revenge. They all died. Did you see those scars on Hyrenna's flank? That was done by Glaedr – Elder Oromis' dragon. He nearly killed her, but she escaped. Just like Faegareth. Just like us.'_

Galbatorix shivered. No matter where he went, it seemed he could not escape from the riders. Even here the shadow of their countless victims lingered on. But, he realised then, he was one of them. One of the survivors. Just like Faegareth. Just like Hyrenna. So much death. Would he be the next to die? Would the riders find him, even here?

Later that day, when he went to Arthryn to learn more of magic, she said; 'There is something on your mind, Sire. May I ask what it is?'

'Please just call me Galbatorix.'

'Then what is troubling you, Galbatorix?'

'Arthryn Far-Seer,' Galbatorix said formally, 'I want to ask you… you've taught me so much about magic. Is there a way to use it to cheat death?'

Arthryn sighed. 'Ah. You mean the spell of true immortality.'

'What spell is that? What does it do?'

'You and I are already immortals,' said Arthryn. 'We can, in theory, live forever. But we are not "true" immortals. You know as well as I that neither of us will truly live forever. No matter what we do, sooner or later death will find us. It may be today, it maybe in a hundred years, but we will die. By poison, by disease, by the sword… we are still vulnerable. But a true immortal is not. A true immortal can never die. They are vulnerable to nothing. Nothing can harm them, not physical danger, not magic. They do not age, they cannot be killed. But the only true immortals who exist are the gods themselves, and their power is not for ordinary people to have. Still, there is a spell which can grant this power and make a god of an ordinary immortal. That is the spell of true immortality.'

'Has anyone ever used it?' Galbatorix asked.

'No. It has been attempted in the past, by a few mad individuals. They all died, and not quickly or pleasantly. Anyone who so much as attempts to use the spell of immortality will be cursed, for to cast it is a crime against gods and men, and against life itself. It violates not just the laws of man and elf, but the caster as well. If someone was to carry it out and live, they would indeed be as a god. But they would live a cursed life from that day on.'

Galbatorix shuddered. 'Would anyone be that mad?'

'Some have been, yes,' said Arthryn.

'But what's so terrible about it? How does it work?'

'Very well. I will tell you, because I would not for one second believe that you would even contemplate it. The spell of true immortality requires a vast amount of energy. The caster must enlist the help of at least ten other magicians, each one at least as powerful and skilled as a fully-trained rider. They must speak the spell in unison with him, and then channel the energy into him. But that energy cannot just come from them. That is why the spell is so unspeakable – it requires sacrifices. To become a true immortal, you would have to steal the lives of a number of powerful beings and take them for yourself. All their energy would be bound into you forever. You would become a hundred times more powerful than the most powerful rider, but to do so you would have to commit the worst kind of murder and violation.'

Galbatorix listened, dumbstruck. He had imagined that it would be terrible, but nowhere near as terrible as this.

Arthryn, however, was not done. 'The spell must be cast on the night of the full moon, when the power of the gods is at its greatest. The words are these…' she began to recite a string of words in an ancient form of dark elvish, which Galbatorix was fairly familiar with by now. He listened closely, unable to stop himself, and repeated them to himself. They had a strange mellifluous sound to them, like honey made into words.

'Now you see why it is better to accept our fate,' said Arthryn. 'Some laws were not made to be broken.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I understand,' he said. 'If it came to a choice between dying and living like that…'

'Sometimes, death is the only right choice,' Arthryn agreed. 'When you are older you will lose your fear of death. Like fate, we cannot escape it, and we can only live if we learn to embrace it.'

There was a strange resignation in her voice as she said this. Later, Galbatorix would wonder if she had already known what was coming.

That night there was a full moon, one that was unusually bright. It shone down on Galbatorix's little shelter like a second sun, so brightly that it woke Laela up.

The white dragon stirred irritably and moved her head into a shadow in the hopes of getting back to sleep. It didn't work.

After lying there for at least an hour trying in vain to sleep, she sighed and got up. There was no point in trying to sleep if sleep would not come, so she decided to go for a walk to try and calm herself down.

The forest was very still in the moonlight. Everything looked as if it had been made from shadows and silver ice, and time seemed to stand still. Laela wandered among the elvish shelters, staying as silent as she could for fear of waking someone up. The dark elves were semi-nocturnal, and she saw a few of them up and about. Dozens of Galbatorixes; older, younger, taller or shorter, but all him. She still could not shake that feeling off. The only things that distinguished him from them were his slightly ragged rounded ears, and his curly hair, a trait that did not exist among the dark elves.

Laela followed the steam, without any particular goal in mind. She did like the moonlight, and the silence made her feel peaceful. She paused to drink from the icy water, realising suddenly that she was quite close to the sacred pool where she was still not permitted to go.

As she paused there, she saw a movement from the dense trees ahead and lifted her snout to look, water dripping from her jaws. It was Arthryn, all alone.

Laela bowed her head respectfully to the old seer. _'I'm sorry, Arthryn. I didn't mean to come so close to the pool.'_

Arthryn stood by the trunk of a tree, her walking staff in her hand. She looked strangely weak, her head drooping as if from exhaustion, and Laela saw her gripping the tree's rough bark as if she were taking strength from it.

'_Are you all right?'_ she asked.

'_Well enough, Laela Snowscales,'_ said Arthryn. _'But I am sad.'_

'_May I ask why?'_

Arthryn watched her for a moment. _'I am sad for him,'_ she said.

Laela did not need to ask who she was talking about. _'Why? He seems happy enough here. Finding your people gave him a new reason to live, you know.'_

Arthryn shook her head slowly, her face full of misery. _'He is such a fine man. He has a courage and a strength in him that I have never seen before, and he has a good heart.'_

'_I know,'_ said Laela, not without pride.

'_He does not deserve what lies ahead,'_ said Arthryn.

Laela's heart beat faster. _'What is it, Arthryn Far-Seer? What have you seen?'_

'_He does not wish to be the King he will be,'_ said Arthryn.

'_Of course he doesn't. Why should he? He has no ambition for it. He's just a boy, Arthryn. He wants adventure, not some mad idea of becoming a King. And a King of what, exactly? The dark elves? Is that what you meant?'_

'_I do not know,'_ said Arthryn. _'But I have seen him with a crown on his head, seated on a dark throne. I have seen him as a King. But I have seen other things, and you will not like them, Snowscales.'_

'_What is it?'_ said Laela, tensing. _'Tell me.'_

'_I have seen him fight in terrible wars, seated on a dragon's back. And that dragon was not you.'_

Laela froze. _'What? I don't understand – how can that be possible?'_

Again Arthryn shook her head. _'I only know what I saw, and I saw him ride into battle on a dragon that was not you.'_

Laela bared her teeth. _'If you think I would let him fight alone-,'_

'_I am sorry, Laela, but it cannot be changed. No matter what you do, no matter what either of you do, he will lose you. And it will tear him apart.'_

'_NO!'_

'_I am sorry,'_ Arthryn repeated softly.

Tears sprang into Laela's eyes. _'I can't… no. No. I don't want to… I can't… please, Arthryn. It's not true, it can't be true, I won't let it…'_

'_The future cannot be changed,'_ said Arthryn. _'Not yours and not mine. Accept it, Laela, and be at peace.'_

Laela glared at her. _'No,'_ she said. _'I will not let it happen. Nothing can tear me away from him, and nothing ever will.'_

Arthryn bowed her head, her whole demeanour full of terrible despair. Laela turned and left, her tail thrashing, and the old seer watched her go without saying a word.

The next few days were agony for Laela. She did not tell Galbatorix what Arthryn had said. She ached to tell him, and several times she nearly did. She tried to dismiss it, to convince herself that it was untrue, but she couldn't, and she longed to hear Galbatorix's gentle voice telling her that all was well, that he would stay with her and never leave.

But she kept it to herself, and the words chased themselves endlessly through her head, tormenting her and refusing to leave her alone. She threw herself into everything she did, driven by a kind of desperate enthusiasm, but not even Hyrenna's gentle presence could soothe her.

In the end, she could bear it no longer. She began to speak to every one of the dark elves, begging them to tell her some way to stop Arthryn's prophecy from coming true. They listened sympathetically, but every single one told her the same thing. It was impossible. No matter what she did, it would happen regardless.

In desperation, she turned to Queen Saethryn, to Arthryn's acolytes, to Faegareth, Arthryn herself… she even, in the end, talked to some of the children. Saethryn was kind and understanding, but simply repeated what the rest of her people had said. The acolytes told her it was the will of the gods, and advised her to meditate in the moonlight until she was at peace with reality. Faegareth coldly told her that hysteria achieved nothing and she would do well to keep her head. Arthryn said nothing at all, and the children only laughed.

Laela, by now at the end of her tether, cursed rudely at the acolytes and returned to Hyrenna's side, taking some small comfort from the old dragon's company.

Hyrenna seemed aware of the younger dragon's agitation. She nosed at Laela's shoulders, her great eyes concerned.

Laela looked back at her. _'Hello, Hyrenna. I'm sorry I haven't been with you much lately. I've been busy.'_

Hyrenna indicated curiosity.

'_Well…'_ Laela hesitated a moment, and then, in a rush of words, told her everything. Hyrenna listened closely. Afterwards she radiated a feeling of deep sadness and sympathy, one which was so powerful that it calmed some of Laela's fears.

'_I'm sure you understand,'_ she said gratefully. _'You already know what loss is like.'_

Hyrenna put her head on one side in that gentle way of hers, and sighed.

For some reason it made Laela feel better.

That evening, as always, she returned to Galbatorix's shelter. He was already there, eating a piece of acorn bread. _'Hello!'_ he said cheerfully. _'How was your day?'_ Without waiting for an answer, he said; _'Guess what happened to me today?'_

Laela lay down beside him. _'Go on.'_

'_You know Ystwelyn's daughter, Fynadd? Well, today she told me that she likes me and she wants me to… well, you know.'_ He grinned bashfully. _'She's beautiful. I told Arthryn about it, and she was pleased. She said that even if I spend the rest of my life just living here, if I were to take a dark elvish maiden as my lover and father children by her, it would be a great gift to the tribe. Children are a blessing to us, you see.'_

He had said 'us', Laela noticed. Not 'them'. Us. He had become a dark elf through and through. _'That's wonderful,'_ she said.

Galbatorix didn't miss the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. _'What's the matter?'_ he asked.

'_Hmm? Oh… nothing. Nothing. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'_

But she was not, and she knew it. That night she lay awake by the shelter, full of a terrible fear. All she could think of was Galbatorix. They had been together for so long that she could not imagine living without him. Since the day she had hatched he had been part of her – the other half of her heart. She loved him more deeply than she had ever loved Thrain, more deeply than she could love anyone else. He was more than her greatest friend; he was her. Her safety. Her comfort. Her shelter. And she was going to lose him.

Tears began to brim in Laela's eyes. She tried to fight them off, but they overpowered her. She curled up alone in the snow and began to sob softly as a deadening wave of despair swept through her. _No,_ she thought, again and again. _No, no, no, no…_

Something warm touched her forehead, and she looked up dully. It was Hyrenna, standing over her and looking at her, her golden eyes full of warmth, like a mother looking on her hatchling. Laela controlled herself with some effort, rising to greet the old dragon. _'Hello,'_ she said, her mental voice shaky.

'_Why are you crying, Laela?'_

Laela started. _'You spoke!'_

'_You cry for thy rider,'_ said Hyrenna. Her mental voice was rich and ancient. _'I feel it.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Laela. _'Yes, that's why… Hyrenna, I thought-,'_

'_I have broken my silence,'_ said Hyrenna. _'For thee, Laela. Tell me thy sorrow, white-scaled one.'_

Laela turned her head to look through the entrance of the shelter, where Galbatorix lay on his side, sleeping deeply in his bed of furs. _'I don't want to lose him,'_ she said.

'_It is thy fate, Laela. Why do you fight against it?'_

Laela looked into the old dragon's face. _'Because I love him,'_ she said simply.

Hyrenna sighed and nodded. _'Love. I understand this well, for I loved my family. My mate, my parents, my chicks, all precious to me and by fate taken from me forever.'_

'_Then you understand what it's like,'_ said Laela. _'I don't want that to happen to me. Please, Hyrenna. I want to stay with him.'_

Hyrenna nuzzled her gently. _'I understand this, Snowscales, I understand this well. But hear this true. There is no escape from fate. Many have tried, all have failed. There are forces in this world which we can neither understand nor control, and those forces take power even over the gods themselves.'_

'_But there has to be something I can do,'_ Laela said desperately.

Hyrenna looked at her, then into the gloom of the shelter where Galbatorix lay. _'What wouldst thou give for his sake, Laela? Truly, what wouldst thou do?'_

'_He's my rider,'_ said Laela. _'I would die for him.'_

Hyrenna sighed her weary sigh. _'There is a way for thee to protect him from his fate. Only one way. But it is a way that will cost thee dearly.'_

'_I don't care,' _Laela said at once. _'Tell me, Hyrenna. Please.'_

'_Thou must tear out thy heart,'_ said Hyrenna.

Laela paused. _'My heart?'_

Hyrenna nodded. _'The energy that is thy life-force, the centre of thy being – that is thy heart. Rip it from thy chest, and place it inside him. That way, no matter what happens, some part of thee will always live inside him. It will protect him, strengthen him. But know this, Laela Snowscales, and know it true. If ye do this, it will leave thee crippled for life. Thy magic will be lost forever; no longer wilt thou breathe fire, and thy strength will be diminished. The sacrifice will be so great that death may be preferable. So choose wisely, Laela. Woulst thou do this to thyself for his sake?'_

'_I- I don't know,'_ Laela faltered.

Hyrenna looked at her. _'Choose,'_ she said, and left as silently as she had come.

For a long time after she had gone, Laela stood alone in the moonlight, watching Galbatorix sleep. His breathing was deep and peaceful, his pale face serene. He mumbled something and turned over, and as his hand appeared from under the furs she could see the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm, shimmering like a tiny moon.

Laela whimpered softly. She could not ignore Arthryn's words, nor forget them. She knew in her heart of hearts that, no matter how much she tried to deny it, the seer was right. Laela too had had dreams – dreams shared with Galbatorix. She had seen the darkness Arthryn had foretold made manifest in those dreams. He was doomed to suffer, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. And she would not be able to save him. But if she chose to do as Hyrenna had said, even at so high a price, it could help him. And if he was indeed fated to lose her, then she would do whatever she could to give him her protection before that happened.

Laela looked at him, so small and vulnerable lying there, and then she was sure.


	21. The End of All Hope

Chapter Twenty-One

The End of All Hope

When Galbatorix woke up the next morning, he knew straight away that something had happened.

He pulled on his boots and crawled out of his shelter. A new layer of snow had fallen during the night, and he had to dig his way through a small snowdrift to get into the open air. The entire forest had turned pure white, and the sky overhead was grey. And the air was full of a terrible wailing and moaning.

Galbatorix looked around, wondering nervously what was going on. _'Laela? Where are you?'_

No reply. But a few moments later the white dragon appeared, walking toward his shelter, her head low. She nudged him affectionately, but he could feel her unhappiness.

'_Laela, what's going on?'_

Laela cast a sorrowful glance at him. _'Hyrenna is dead.'_

'_Oh no. How?'_

'_Died in her sleep,'_ said Laela. _'The cold weather was too much for her. The dark elves are mourning for her – now she's dead, her whole race is gone forever.'_

Galbatorix sighed unhappily. _'We should probably go and see Saethryn.'_

'_Yes, we should,'_ said Laela. _'Today is a day of mourning; there'll be funeral rites said over Hyrenna's body and some rituals and things.'_

Galbatorix nodded and retreated back into his shelter. There he put on the thickest and warmest of the robes he'd been given, along with a pair of dark elvish boots, binding his calves with strips of deer-hide. He strapped White Violence to his back in its sheath, pulled on the fingerless leather gloves he'd worn in Dras-Leona, and returned to Laela's side. The white dragon wordlessly showed him the way to the spot where Hyrenna's body lay, curled up at the base of a tree. The old dragon was still and cold, nearly frozen. Icicles hung from her still-folded wings, and she was half-buried in snow, her old face locked into the last expression it had worn – one of deep sorrow and weariness, rather than peace.

Dark elves had gathered around it, their heads bowed, murmuring strange chants and prayers in their own language, which Galbatorix had only a rudimentary understanding of. Saethryn was there, with Arthryn by her side, and he went to join them. They moved aside silently so that he could stand between them, which he did, saying nothing. Laela went to Hyrenna's body and touched the lifeless face with her paws, her head bowed. Then she lifted her head and bellowed.

It was neither a roar nor a wail, but a deep, booming howl that rose into the sky, like the voice of a giant wolf. It was a sound that Galbatorix had never before heard a dragon make, and it sent a powerful _rush_ of feeling down his spine, like a shiver but a thousand times stronger. The dark elves joined their voices with Laela's, and the sound filled the valley and echoed into the sky. If grief had a voice, this was it.

Afterwards the funeral rites began. No-one said a word. The dark elves, never talkative, had lapsed into an impenetrable silence. They barely looked at each other. Galbatorix had more than enough sense not to try and disturb it, and did not even talk to Laela. Instead he stayed by her side and witnessed the rites – signs were drawn in the snow and strange objects, made from twigs bound together with leather thongs, were placed around the body. The dark elves sang; high, keening, wordless songs that were full of unutterable grief and bitterness. Grief not just for Hyrenna and her dead race, but for a hundred races dead and gone. Afterwards the dark elves joined together and melded their magic together, casting a spell which engulfed Hyrenna's body in black flame. It burnt high into the air, dark and shimmering, and Galbatorix thought he could see visions in it – visions of a great grassland, rippling and sighing in the wind, while small brown dragons soared overhead, watching their youngsters gambolling among the tussocks, chirping and tussling with each other. A thousand suns rose and fell, a mighty brown river flowed silently and powerfully over the land while the warm winds blew and brought the mingled scents of grass-seeds and rich earth and the breath of wild horses. A way of life, gone forever.

The fire rose higher and the visions disappeared. When it died down, all that remained of Hyrenna's body was a heap of black ashes. The dark elves gathered it up, packing it into a dozen earthenware jars which were distributed among the mourners. Galbatorix was given one, and held onto it uncertainly. The dark elves formed into a line and walked away from the clearing in a silent procession, Arthryn at their head. Galbatorix followed.

The line of elves followed the stream to the sacred pool, and there they cast the ashes into the water. As Galbatorix emptied his own urn, the wind caught the ashes and carried them up into the sky, swirling and spiralling like a flock of birds. He watched it and imagined that he could see Hyrenna's spirit taking flight for the last time, away into the land of the dead.

When the last of the ashes had been poured into the pool, turning its surface pitch black, Arthryn took her staff in both hands and intoned; 'May the gods receive the soul of Hyrenna Suneyes of the Plains, last of her race. May she look down from the stars and may her wisdom embrace us. This we ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day forth we shall speak of her only in friendship, and let her misdeeds and mistakes be forgotten. Now let us speak her name.'

The dark elves bowed their heads and said, simply, _'Hyrenna.'_

Galbatorix murmured the name along with them, his heart heavy, and joined the dark elves as they walked back the way they had come, away from the darkened waters of the pool. At the edge of the thicket that surrounded it he rejoined Laela, and the pair of them went with the tribe to Saethryn's fire. As soon as they were there, it was as if a spell had been broken. The reverent silence that had accompanied the rituals for Hyrenna disappeared, and the dark elves began to speak once more. They talked about the old dragon, telling stories about her as they cast the spell to make the fire grow and then set about preparing a feast. Galbatorix let himself be swept along in the activity, and afterwards he joined them as they sat around the fire and ate. There was a certain good cheer now overlaying the general solemnity, as if, having said goodbye to Hyrenna, they were now able to celebrate her life.

Galbatorix and Laela sat with Saethryn and Arthryn and ate roasted deer, and the feast went on through the afternoon and into the night. Then, as the moon rose, Saethryn called for silence.

'Let the telling of tales begin,' she said.

There was stillness for a few moments, and then Arthryn looked at Galbatorix and said; 'Perhaps you should be first, Sire. It is traditional that we each tell a story for the others to hear. It may be anything, but it must be true.'

Galbatorix hesitated, then nodded. 'All right. I've got one.'

He stood up so that everyone could hear him, and began. He told the story of his fight with the Ra'zac, and to his surprise he found himself enjoying it. After a while, seeing that his audience was looking engaged, he started to wave his hands about to emphasise certain points, and then, when he described the fight, he drew White Violence and made some mock swings with it, pretending to fight a Ra'zac who wasn't there. The dark elves liked this, and one or two of them went as far as to shout encouragement. He grinned, but restrained himself and sheathed the sword before going on to recount his conversation with the defeated creature, and how he had been moved to spare its life.

The dark elves murmured together when they heard this part, and he saw them nodding approvingly. He finished the story by describing how he had found the diamond, and when he had finished and sat down he glanced at Arthryn and saw her smile on him like a proud grandmother – which, after all, was what she was.

'A fine tale, Sire,' she said. Seeing him wince, she smiled and added, 'I meant to say, a fine tale, _Galbatorix._'

Several people laughed, and then it was Laela's turn to speak. The white dragon looked embarrassed and tried to back out of it. 'I don't have anything to tell,' she said lamely.

'Come on, Laela, don't be shy,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm sure you can think of something.'

She glanced at him, and seemed to become a little more confident. 'All right then,' she said.

She glanced around at the listeners, and began. 'Once,' she said. 'Once, in the city of Ellesméra, there was a dragon's egg kept in a box with a dozen others. The hatchling inside the egg had been there for nearly twenty years, reaching out with her mind all the while in search of a second mind that appealed to her. But none of the minds she touched were right for her. Still she waited, dreaming inside her egg, always searching. And then one day she sensed new minds near her. One by one they came close enough for her to touch, and one by one she rejected them. And then at last a mind came within her reach that was different. This mind was dark and strong, very strong. So strong that it would have frightened many, but it made the dragon feel safe. She touched that mind, feeling it, tasting it, and the more she felt that mind the more she liked it. It was as if she had found something she had lost after missing it for years, and it made her happy. So she hatched, and found the owner of the mind she had touched, and bonded herself to him. That one was a human boy, with hair as black as night and a pair of eyes that glittered like dark diamonds. So strange compared to the others, so different from them all. He did not belong where he was, or with the people around him. He was so alone. And there was a darkness about him, as if he were a shadow come to life, a darkness that made others uneasy. But every moment she was with him the dragon felt safe and happy, and complete. And the more she came to know him, the more she understood him, the more she loved him. She found what lay inside him, and knew that it was something more precious than any treasure in the world – something only a few people would ever see, and even fewer understand. From that day forth the boy and the dragon were one heart, one soul, one mind. Their lives were one. Always. And the dragon vowed that she would stay by him always, fly with him, fight by his side, share everything that life gave her, and, if need be, die for him. Because, come what may, she would stay by him.' Laela's voice had remained low and steady until this point, but now it became louder and more passionate, and she looked directly at Arthryn and said; 'Even beyond death itself.'

The white dragon and the seer exchanged some inscrutable looks, and then Laela returned to her spot and sat down, looking inexplicably exhausted. Galbatorix said nothing, but hugged her tightly, his face pressed into her scales. Laela growled softly and touched his back with her snout. The dark elves looked on without comment. They were not as unemotional as they had appeared at first, and treated displays of strong feeling with a silence that signified respect rather than contempt.

Next it was Arthryn's turn to tell a story. The old seer came forward, saying; 'I will tell the tale of the first prophecy I ever made. It was long ago, when I was a child. I had fallen from a rock and hurt my head, and after I had run home in tears my father comforted me and put a healing lotion on my forehead. I fell asleep in his arms, and dreamed a long and fantastic dream, unlike any I had dreamed before or have dreamed since. In this dream I saw the birth of the riders. I saw them rise to power, their enemies laid low, their might unchallenged and unsurpassed. And then I saw them fall from grace, their cities thrown down and destroyed, their people scattered by war and catastrophe. Then, from the darkness, three dragons rose. One was blue, one red, one black, and I knew that it was these three dragons who would create a new age for Alagaësia. Which dragon triumphed would determine what this new age would be. The blue dragon looked to the past, the red one to the present, the black one to the future. After this new age begins, there will be great change, many things will end, others will begin. A man will come to Alagaësia from over the sea who has no true home nor shape – born of dark king, born of dragon queen. The old races will fade and humans will rise. Their time is coming soon.'

Silence followed Arthryn's story; uneasy silence. No-one spoke.

'If I may tell the next story?' a voice intruded.

It was Faegareth. The shape-shifter had slid in among them unnoticed, and now sat with his dark elvish lover, his golden eyes glowing in the firelight.

'Of course you may, Thousand-Faces,' Saethryn said graciously.

Faegareth stood up. 'I will tell you the story of the black dragon,' he said.

There was a murmur of interest at this. Evidently the story was a popular one.

Faegareth paused, sighed, and began. 'A thousand years ago, before the riders had come into being, when the Southern elves and the dragons were at war, that is when the black dragon was born. I was living in the Spine at the time; I had no wish to be caught up in the middle of the war, and was disenchanted with humans at the time so I spent most of my time as either a dragon or a wolf. But from time to time I would visit the dark elvish settlement, to hear the news and spend some time with people I respected. At the time they were ruled by Saethryn's grandfather, Odynn Traeganni. From them I heard a rumour that something strange had happened, deep in the Spine, where the wild dragons had their territory. Hayagriva, one of the royal dragons – a six-horned dragon is called a royal dragon, you see, and is regarded as something of an elder – Hayagriva had been found dead in his territory, along with his mate, Surya. The cause of death was clear, but strange. Surya had been killed by another dragon; her chest was torn apart and there were talon marks on her. Hayagriva had also been injured by another dragon, but he had been killed by lightning. There had been a storm the night before, but no-one knew what had happened. Hayagriva was too respected by his fellow dragons to be attacked by one of them, and none of them would have dared to assault Surya while he was there. It was a mystery, and one that was creating a lot of anger and suspicion among the wild dragons. I was curious to know more, so I changed into wolf form and travelled to Hayagriva's territory. I saw his body myself, and Surya's as well, but by then there was no scent left to follow. A mystery. I puzzled over it for days. Rumour said it was a conspiracy, that some wild dragon had turned traitor and begun working for the elves. I went among the wild dragons in my dragon-shape, and talked to them, and it was from one of them that I learned something that had not been mentioned before. Surya had been about to lay eggs when she died. For some reason, when I heard that, a shiver went down my spine. My instincts told me there was more to it than there seemed. I returned to Hayagriva's territory and explored the cave that he and Surya had lived in. Nothing. No sign of an egg. But Surya's body had rotted, and the remains of her eggs should still have been inside her. There was nothing there. She had laid her eggs. But where were they? Had someone taken them? I began to explore the land around Hayagriva's territory, looking for places that someone could have entered by, or for any trace of eggs. It smelt wrong. No dragon would ever steal another dragon's egg. I suspected it was the work of elves. But I did not find any trace of them there. I came to a river, and I followed it, looking for prey. And that was when I found him.'

Faegareth paused, looking around at the expectant faces. The firelight flickered over his own face, and he resumed.

'The black dragon,' he said. 'I saw him. I was in wolf form, and I came across him at night. I had caught his scent and followed it out of curiosity; it was the wrong land for a dragon to have territory on. And the black dragon was there. A hatchling, only a few weeks old at most, still smaller than me. He was curled up there in the valley by the river, and I almost didn't see him at all. Black from nose to tail, unlike any dragon I had ever seen. Black claws, black wings… only his horns were white, and his eyes were gold. He saw me, and I saw him, and just for a few seconds we looked into each other's eyes. Then I left him without saying anything. I walked away out of that valley without a backward glance, and never returned, and to this day I still don't know why I did that. But I never forgot what I had seen. The black dragon had come. I did not tell anyone about it, but inside I knew. Surya had laid her egg. Only one egg. She had laid the black egg, and that was why she was dead, and her mate as well. The black dragon's storm had struck him down.'

Faegareth paused again here, and Galbatorix said; 'What do you mean by "his" storm, Faegareth? How can someone own a storm?'

The shapeshifter glanced briefly at him. 'The magic of the black dragon is not like the magic that you or I can use. No-one fully understands it – not me, not the elves, not the dragons. But the black dragon is more than just an ordinary dragon. From the day he was laid, there was a power that watched over him – the storm was that power. It is said that it gathers whenever he needs it, to protect him when his life is in danger. That is why other dragons fear and hate him, because they fear storms above all else, and he can control them. No dragon will fly in a storm, except for the black dragon.'

'Did you ever see him again?' Laela asked.

'No. But I heard of him. Everyone did. The black dragon may have been just a youngster when I saw him, but he grew up. Oh yes. He grew up to be more terrible than any wild dragon had ever been.' Faegareth said this with what sounded like a note of approval in his voice. 'He had no friends, no family, no home, no loyalty to anyone but himself. Dragons, elves, humans… he fought them all, and he killed them. But there was a prophecy. No-one knows who first told it, but it said that there would come a day when the union between an evil man and a black dragon would bring sorrow and destruction to Alagaësia. The black dragon must have heard this prophecy, because he left the Spine and went into the land of men. And that was where he found your ancestor, Galbatorix.'

'Taranis,' Galbatorix muttered.

Faegareth nodded. 'Yes, Taranis. By then he was a grown man, bonded to the only other black dragon in the world – Silarae was her name. I saw her as a hatchling in the dark elvish settlement. An intelligent and gentle creature – far too gentle for a dragon, in my opinion. However it was, Taranis was intelligent enough to take advantage of this second black dragon. He gave him a home in the hopes that he would fight for him, and perhaps mate with Silarae and father eggs that he could use to create more riders that would obey him. Taranis was corrupt and ambitious, but he was cunning. His scheme worked. The black dragon stayed with him and helped him and King Paelis to crush a human rebellion that was taking place at the time. And he did indeed become Silarae's mate. But in the end Taranis failed. The rebels were joined by the Southern elves, who were now led by Eragon, the new rider they had made. Eragon killed Taranis and Silarae, and King Paelis' army was crushed. But the black dragon escaped. To this day no-one knows what became of him, but it is said that he flew away over the sea that day, never to return.'

Faegareth's story ended there.

'Did he have a name?' Galbatorix asked.

'Yes. Ravana. Also known as the Night Dragon.'

Galbatorix paused. The name sounded oddly familiar, but he had no idea where he'd heard it before. He shrugged. It was probably unimportant.

Faegareth sat down again and the next person came forward to tell a story. Galbatorix sat and listened as tale after tale was told; some long, some short, some funny, some sad. Tales of ancient battles, the deeds of heroes, old prophecies, the makings of great artworks, love stories, even accounts of memorable hunting expeditions.

The night drew on, and by the time everyone had spoken it was nearly midnight. Barrels of wine had been brought out, and everyone drank heartily. Faegareth downed cup after cup, not quickly but steadily, delicately wiping his mouth after each swallow. After a while, not noticeably wobbling but definitely inebriated, he coolly told Galbatorix about his various sexual conquests over the years. He didn't sound like he was boasting, but talked as if he were describing a series of fine wines he had sampled. The list of his different partners was both long and varied, and Galbatorix listened to it with a kind of horrified fascination. And then, at last, a name came up that he recognised.

'Angela of the werecats. Now _she_ was irritating.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Angela? You mean… was she a werecat?'

'No, no. _Raised_ by werecats, but definitely human. Quite pretty in a human kind of way. Brown curly hair, freckles, green eyes. The werecats found her as an abandoned child and raised her themselves, and that was how I met her. She was curious to know more about me, so we talked, and after a few days it became, uh, shall we say, somewhat evident that she was interested in giving me the gift that can only be given once. So we enjoyed a night or two together under the stars, but when I told her it was time for me to move on she was unhappy about it. The poor girl was convinced that she was in love with me, and simply wouldn't be dissuaded. When I left she tried to follow me, but I shook her off easily enough. To be honest, I was more than happy to be rid of her. She would _not_ stop talking.' The shapeshifter helped himself to another cup of wine, showing no sign of embarrassment.

'That's heartless,' Galbatorix protested.

Faegareth glanced up at him over his cup, a little unsteadily. 'Oh, and I suppose you've never abandoned someone who loved you?'

Galbatorix thought of Flell, and had an unpleasant twinge of guilt as he wondered what had become of her. But he felt better when Fynadd caught his eye and smiled at him.

And then, quite suddenly, a new sound rose over the hubbub of voices. It came swiftly and suddenly, and with a violence that made Galbatorix's heart leap into his mouth.

It was a deafening, bone-juddering _crash_, coming from somewhere in the wood around them, and it made the ground shake beneath them. Galbatorix leapt to his feet, along with everyone else, and seconds later –

The world exploded. The air turned blinding white, and the ground was ripped away from under Galbatorix's feet. Seconds later there was a sound that slammed into his head, so loud it rattled his teeth and filled his head with red light. Something hit him, hard, and pain blossomed in his midsection, and then everything went dark.

He came to a few seconds later, and the first thing he heard was moaning and screaming. He opened his eyes, and found himself lying on his side at the base of a tree, his left arm twisted beneath him. His stomach was agonisingly painful, and he couldn't breathe properly. He made an attempt to get up, cringing as more pain exploded in his joints, but too fearful to let himself lie still. After a couple of attempts he stood up, automatically checking for injuries. Aside from some bad bruising, he was fine. But the world around him was not.

The clearing where Saethryn's fire had burnt was now at the centre of a blackened crater in the ground. Shards of broken wood and pottery were scattered everywhere, and among them were… bodies. Laela was off to one side, lying on her belly, but he could see her stirring. He ran to her.

Laela raised her head, shuddering. _'Oh great gods in the sky, what _happened?_ Galbatorix? Are you all right?'_

'_Laela! Are you hurt?'_

'_I think I'm fine…'_

There were shards of wood embedded in her neck and flanks, and her wings were torn. Galbatorix pulled the shards out, hastily speaking the healing spell over her injuries. Laela pulled herself to her claws, and her could hear her harsh, frightened breathing.

There was no time to compare notes. Galbatorix ran to check the bodies lying in the crater. The dark elves who had been sitting around the fire had been flung in all directions by the explosion, some ending up against the trunks of trees as he had. Several trees had been flattened by the sheer violence of the attack, and small fires were burning here and there.

Galbatorix could see several of the others getting up, groaning and crying in pain, calling out for friends and relatives. Heart pounding, he hurried to the side of each of the prone bodies still on the ground, searching for survivors. Some were still alive, and he healed them as fast as he could. Others were already dead. Those who had been at the centre of the explosion had been simply blown apart. He saw the pieces that remained, and retched. He found Ystwelyn and his daughter Fynadd dead, along with all of the dark elvish nobles and two of Arthryn's acolytes, but of Arthryn herself there was no sign. Nor could he find Saethryn.

'_Here,'_ Laela said in a low voice. _'She's here.'_

The Queen of the dark elves lay at the roots of an old oak where she had fallen. Other elves were already gathering around her. Galbatorix ran to her, crouching by her side, but he saw straight away that there was nothing he could do for her. A piece of broken pottery had been driven right through her body, and her face was burned almost beyond recognition.

Galbatorix touched her hand. 'Queen Saethryn… can you hear me?'

Saethryn stirred slightly. Her other hand twitched and moved toward him, pushing something into his hand. It was her crown, miraculously untouched. Galbatorix took it, and she curled her hand around his as if to confirm that she wanted him to have it.

'Now you are our King,' one of the dark elves murmured.

Galbatorix looked up at the sky, and an awful certainty hardened inside him. 'I know what that was,' he said. 'That was a firebomb. That was a weapon of the riders.' He stood up, looking at the dozen or so elves who remained living. 'We're under attack,' he said, his voice deep and commanding in a way it had never been before. 'The riders have found us. Find somewhere to shelter! Now!'

They did not hesitate for a second. They ran away through the trees, back toward their homes, melting into the shadows just as they had done the first time he met them. A second explosion came from somewhere in the trees, and Galbatorix shuddered.

'What are we going to do?' he breathed.

Laela pressed herself against him, staring up into the sky. Seconds later there was a rush of air, and a great red dragon flew overhead. A dragon clad in battle armour.

Galbatorix drew White Violence, mouthing dark elvish curses. '_Mae dy fam yn llyfu cociau mul_, gods damn them all, I will not let this happen! Come on! We're going to fight those scum in the air.'

'Too late!' the voice split the air. Galbatorix looked around sharply and saw Arthryn coming toward him. She was limping, but appeared to be uninjured.

Galbatorix ran to her. 'Arthryn! Oh, thank gods you're all right!'

Arthryn looked down at Saethryn. The dark elvish Queen was dead, but the old seer showed no sign of any emotion. 'It's over,' she said. 'There is nothing you can do, Sire. This is the night I have seen coming for a long time. The dark elves are doomed. Come with me, now, as fast as you can.'

'But I-,'

'_NOW_!' Arthryn shouted the word and ran away through the forest, gesturing frantically at him to follow. 'Come, now! To the sacred pool!'

Galbatorix ran after her, and Laela followed, her paws thudding on the earth. There was no time for stealth or secrecy. They simply ran, the trees flicking past, and as they ran they saw that terror had come to the valley. Other firebombs had hit the ground among the elvish shelters, reducing them to matchwood. The bodies of dark elves were scattered among the shattered and burning trees, and overhead they could see a second dragon, this one gold, breathing fire to set the forest alight. Galbatorix raged internally as he ran, aching to fly up there with Laela and defend his people, but still compelled to obey Arthryn. He trusted and respected her too much to go against her now.

As they neared the sacred pool, they heard a roar from overhead. The red dragon had spotted them, and now bore down on them, mouth open to spit flame. Arthryn screamed and covered her head with her arms. Galbatorix halted, rushing to Laela's side to climb onto her back. But before he had done so there was a second roar, and from out of nowhere a second dragon appeared. It shot up from among the trees and hit the red dragon head-on, and as Galbatorix watched in astonishment the two dragons grappled with each other, roaring and snarling.

The second dragon was black, and for a wild second he thought it was Ravana. But then he saw that its belly was bronze.

'_Where did it come from?'_ he exclaimed.

Laela looked on as the dark dragon tore at its opponent's chest, roaring and screaming like no other dragon either of them had ever heard. _'I don't know, but…'_

And then it hit him. _'Faegareth! It's Faegareth!'_

Arthryn was standing by a tree not far away, gesticulating at them. 'Come on!' she yelled.

Galbatorix pulled himself together and ran after her once again. They reached the thicket around the sacred pool, which was still intact, and Arthryn ran straight through it. Galbatorix followed, and this time Laela plunged after him, shouldering aside the undergrowth as if it were nothing.

By the shore of the sacred pool it was surprisingly peaceful. Here, for some reason, the sound of the battle did not penetrate. The acolytes who still survived were waiting there, and bowed their heads in relief when Arthryn joined them, with Galbatorix by her side.

'Here,' she said to him. 'Wait here.'

Galbatorix exploded. 'Wait here? Are you mad? Wait here while they kill you all?'

Arthryn looked at the ground. 'Yes,' she half-whispered.

Galbatorix slammed White Violence into the ground, point-first. 'Forget it!' he raged, forgetting his respect for her and pointing accusingly at her face. 'If you think I'm going to wait here like a coward and just let this happen, you're mad. Laela, come here.'

Laela joined him at once. Galbatorix picked up White Violence and reached up for her shoulder, saying; 'We're going to fight, Laela.'

'No!' Arthryn cried. 'No, you must not do this, Sire. Please!'

'_Don't – call me SIRE!'_ Galbatorix bellowed, starting toward her, almost violently.

Laela reached into his mind. _'Stop it!'_ she snapped. _'Calm down! What do you think you're doing?'_

'Doing?' Galbatorix said aloud. 'I'm protecting my people is what I'm doing. Arthryn… for the gods' sakes, let me go.'

'Go and do what?' Arthryn demanded, suddenly angry. 'There is nothing you can do for us, Galbatorix, nothing. The dark elves are doomed. Tonight is the night that our race comes to an end. If you go out there and fight alone, you will die.'

'Then I'll die for something worth dying for,' said Galbatorix, going to Laela and attempting to climb onto her shoulders. But she wouldn't let him. 'Laela, stop it!' he snarled.

'_Galbatorix, no. Stop. Listen to Arthryn.'_

'_There's no time, godsdammit, Laela, what's _wrong_ with you?'_

'Die for what?' Arthryn cut in. 'For a race whose time is ended? No. The time will come for us to be avenged, but it is not now. You must wait here. Hide. When it is safe for you, go. Make your escape. You must live.'

Galbatorix looked at her, his anger turning into a terrible sense of helplessness. 'But you'll die.'

Arthryn smiled sadly. 'We are ready to die. After living so long as outcasts, we have little will to live. At least let us die in the knowledge that you will live on to carry our legacy and be our last mark upon the world.'

As she spoke, the acolytes around the pool looked up at the moon, murmuring a last few prayers. Then, moving as one, they cast themselves into the pool where they drowned.

Galbatorix watched them in horror. 'No! Stop!'

'Let them go,' said Arthryn. 'We have embraced our destinies. Some day you will be ready to do the same.'

Galbatorix took her hands in his. 'But if you die, I'll have nothing. I'll be alone. Please, Arthryn, don't do it. Don't let this happen. I don't want to be alone.'

She looked up at him with infinite compassion. 'My dearest child,' she breathed. 'If there were anything I could do to change the future I have seen ahead of you, then I would do it. But there is nothing that can save either of us. Only remember us, and honour us, and live. Always live.'

There was a crash from the trees beyond the sacred pool. Galbatorix turned sharply, as fire came rushing through the trees, gold and red, destroying all that lay before it. And through it two dragons came charging, one red, one gold, their riders running ahead of them.

'GO!' Arthryn screamed. 'Go, now!'

This time Galbatorix did not hesitate. He ran to Laela and climbed onto her back as fast as he could, and she helped him settle between her shoulders, then turned and ran a few paces, her wings opening before she hurled herself into the air. Galbatorix held on tightly, looking back. He was in time to catch one last glimpse of Arthryn as the dragons bore down on her. The old seer was perfectly calm, and made no attempt to escape. He saw her pull a dagger from her robe and, before the first of the riders reached her, she plunged it into her own heart.

Galbatorix let out a howl of anguish. _'Arthryn!'_

Too late. Laela flew up and away from the burning valley as fast as she could go, and the other two dragons came in pursuit. The red one caught up with her in midair, and Galbatorix wrapped his arms around her neck and held on for dear life, unable to raise a hand to cast magic at their attacker. For a few heart-stopping seconds Laela and the red dragon fought with each other in midair, slashing and snarling. The red dragon was without his rider, but he was bigger and heavier than Laela. Galbatorix screamed as he felt the beast's claws tear into Laela's hind legs. Blood rained down from the white dragon's body, and for a moment it seemed she was going to be dragged back down into the valley. But then the red dragon withdrew, snarling and turning to face a new foe – Faegareth. The shapeshifter, lithe and powerful in his dragon form, smashed into the red dragon, bearing him straight downward. The gold dragon flew to help her comrade, and Laela made her escape, flying out of the valley and away.

She went South, heading back over the Icelands, driven by mad instinct rather than reason. South was the way back to the Spine. South was home. Galbatorix, barely managing to hold onto her as the wind ripped at him, looked back and saw the valley in flames. Tears leaked from under his eyelids, only to be whipped away in the icy gale.

And Laela flew. She flew as she had never flown before, all her intelligence lost in a maelstrom of an animal instinct that screamed for survival. It got into Galbatorix as well, and he found himself unable to speak or to think, or to feel anything but terror.

When dawn came they were still in the air, and neither one even thought of stopping. As the dawn light fell over her face, Laela finally found her voice again. _'Where do we go? Where do we go? Where do we go?'_ she said it over and over again, her voice high and panicky, her flight becoming erratic.

Galbatorix, hanging onto her with his face pressed into her scales, couldn't find a reply. All he could see was Arthryn's face, so calm, looking at him with that unbearable pity in her eyes. _If there was anything I could do to change the future I have seen ahead of you…_

'Nothing, nothing, nothing,' he muttered, saying it over and over in a fevered voice.

Laela screamed.

Galbatorix felt pain stab into his shoulder, and started upright in bewilderment, nearly falling from her back. There was blood on his hand, and he looked at it blankly. Then pain hit him again, this time in the back, and then again in the neck. Laela bucked wildly in the air, her mind radiating terror, and then something shot past Galbatorix's face.

It was an arrow.

And, as he looked down at Laela's shoulder, he saw another arrow jutting from her shoulder. There was a roar from above and behind him, and before he knew what was happening, it was already over.

A red dragon shot down on them from above, his claws spread wide, mouth open in a savage bellow. He took hold of Laela's wing, tearing into the thin membrane and breaking the bone, and Galbatorix felt the pain crackle through him. He raised his hand to send magic at his enemy, but the red dragon's rider was ready for him. She screamed out a word, and a ball of red flame hit him in the arm and shoulder, burning him.

The red dragon let go of Laela's wing, and she tried to fly, but the wing snapped uselessly at the air, trailing blood and torn skin and muscle. Her scream sounded in Galbatorix's head, and the pair of them fell from the sky, down and down, the snowy ground rushing up to meet them, their mental voices melding into one sound, one scream.

They hit the ground with a thud that shook the earth, so hard that Galbatorix felt nothing at all. He was flung violently from Laela's back and crashed into a snowdrift.

For what felt like an eternity there was nothing but whiteness, and cold.

Pain recalled him to his senses. It was a pain unlike anything he had felt before. His chest, his back, his phantom wings… every part of him was agony. His vision was edged with grey, a strange rushing, whistling noise filled his ears. He didn't know which way was up or down, or where the ground was.

But some strength he could not understand made him get up, though a strange numbness and confusion had filled him and he barely noticed that he had done it. One moment there was agony and confusion, the next he was staggering through the snow to where Laela was, nearly lost amid the whiteness. Her legs were crumpled underneath her, and the arrows peppered her hide, blood oozing around the fine white shafts and staining the swan-feather fletching.

Galbatorix went straight to her head, falling to his knees by it. 'Laela,' he said. 'Laela. For the gods' sakes, Laela, wake up!'

Her eyes opened slowly, and he sobbed with relief. 'Oh, Laela… I thought you were dead. Are you all right?'

Laela's once-bright silver eyes were dim, but he heard her voice in his head. _'Galbatorix. Galbatorix, I'm sor- sorry, so… sorry. I can't…'_

'Get up,' he whispered. 'Come on, Laela, get up, please, get up, please-,'

'_I'm sorry,'_ she said. _'I have to go.'_

He could feel her pain slowly fading away, but in its place came not strength but coldness and lassitude, and he knew what it meant. He tried to heal her, but his magic was not enough. Her injuries were simply too bad to be healed.

Helpless, tears streaming down his face, he put his arms around her head, hugging her as if he would never let her go. 'I don't want you to die!' he sobbed.

Laela looked into his eyes. _'Don't be afraid,'_ she said gently.

Her eyes closed slowly.

And then, then, _then_ it happened.

The feeling hit him full in the chest, so hard that it flung him backward onto the snow, and with it came pain. But this was not the pain of an injury. As he lay there, gasping, he felt something that only a rider could ever feel. He felt part of himself die.

Galbatorix screamed. The pain was in him, outside him, all around him, destroying him, all of him, everything he had been, everything he was, everything he knew, making him nothing but an animal that thrashed in the snow and screamed. He screamed as he had never screamed before in his life, as no creature should ever be made to scream, a scream that shredded his voice, which broke and ceased to sound even remotely human, and still he screamed. The world around him fell into a million pieces, and darkness took him into it and made him its own.

Then there was no more pain, and he was in the blackness, falling and falling. As he fell he cried out her name. _Laela!_

But there was no reply. She was dead.


	22. Dead and Gone

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dead and Gone

The two riders circled overhead, looking down on the crumpled body of the white dragon. It was hard to see from this height, but they could see the dark form of the half-breed lying by her head where he had fallen.

The gold dragon's rider, an elf, glanced at his companion. _'We should check,'_ he said mentally. _'Just to be sure.'_

The other rider nodded her agreement, and descended. The red dragon landed neatly by the white dragon's body and his rider dismounted. She was quickly joined by her companion.

'You check the boy,' the elf said. 'I'll see to the dragon.'

The red dragon's rider picked her way through the snow toward the half-breed. He was lying quite still, his eyes closed, spreadeagled where he had fallen. She had seen him convulse as he felt his dragon die, and now she looked down at him, unable to hide her sadness. He was lucky to be dead. Surviving the death of your dragon was such a cruel fate that death was preferable, and many riders who lived through it killed themselves.

She nudged the half-breed's limp hand with her boot. Then shook her head and turned away. 'He's dead,' she said.

'So is the dragon,' said the elf, who had finished examining its remains. He shook his head grimly. 'A sad ending for the poor creature. She deserved better than to be brought to this end by the half-breed's evil.'

The female rider nodded. 'Let's go, Lanethial. This place stinks of darkness.'

As she began to walk away, she did not see what happened next. She did not see Galbatorix's hand twitch. The fingers curled, and then his hand moved, groping desperately at the snow until it found what it was looking for. It found White Violence's hilt, and took hold of it.

Galbatorix's eyes blinked open, and he hurled himself forward with a wild scream, straight at the other rider. He caught her from behind, taking her by surprise, and thrust White Violence straight into her back, so hard that it emerged on the other side. She fell, staring in bewilderment.

The elf did not see her fall. But he saw the red dragon scream and collapse, thrashing and howling in agony until he crumpled onto the snow, dead. The elf watched in horror, not understanding what was happening, and by then it was already too late. Next moment he found himself being attacked by a screaming, wild-eyed beast that came straight at him, so fast, so recklessly, that he had no time to react, no time to summon his magic. He managed to draw his sword while his dragon ran to his defence, but it was all over in seconds. Lanethial grappled vainly with his opponent, but the white-bladed sword found his leg, cutting through the tendon. He fell, and Galbatorix stabbed him to death.

The gold dragon began to convulse as she died, but even this she was not allowed to do. Galbatorix ran at her and struck her with his sword, hacking through her neck with three powerful blows. She fell, blood gushing from her wound, and Galbatorix turned, his wide eyes seeking out Laela. He stumbled toward her, dropping his sword by her head, and reached out with his mind, searching for hers.

It wasn't there. Her presence in his mind was simply gone, and no matter how hard he tried he could not find it again.

He sat back, his eyes those of a lost child. 'Laela,' he said.

The only reply was the howling of the wind.

He picked up White Violence, looking at it as if he'd never seen it before. The silvery-white blade was stained red with blood. And, in the hilt, the diamond of Helgrind had turned from white to black.

Galbatorix let the weapon drop from his fingers, and slumped onto Laela's neck, sobbing as his heart broke.

Some days later, a white ice eagle circled over the snowfield, searching for prey. It was the only witness to the dark shape that walked over the Icelands, staggering and falling but always rising again and walking on.

It was a boy, a human boy, but very slightly odd. His hair was long and curly, jet black like his eyes. His face was pale and angular, his build tall, thin and sinewy, although this was not immediately apparent because he wore a long, heavy black robe. Although he seemed strong enough, it was immediately obvious from the way he moved that all was not well with him.

He walked erratically, staggering vaguely this way and that, sometimes looking as if he were about to collapse but somehow finding the strength to go on.

And for weeks, that was all he did. He let the ice and the cold take him into itself, lying down in the snow to sleep every night and eating whatever he found. Grass roots, dirt, rotting carrion… he ate it no matter what it was, his face blank and his eyes wandering vaguely, never settling on anything for long.

He did not remember who he was. He didn't know where he had come from. And he didn't care.

At night, when the moon rose, he would look up at it with a hint of recognition in his eyes, even peace. The sight of it soothed him, as if he knew that it was watching over him in some way.

But all he really knew was one thing, and that was something inside him, an inner voice that pulled him on and on through the ice and snow, always heading Southwards. He was going home. He had to get there. He did not question why. The inner voice was enough to drive him on, and he obeyed it.

As he got further South the land became a little warmer. There were deer here, and white hares. He hunted them down, stalking them over the snow like a great cat and bringing them down with magic, then eating them raw, tearing at the flesh like a wolf and staining his face and hands with hot blood.

He rested sometimes, sitting in the snow and hugging his knees, rocking back and forth and muttering to himself. Just one word, over and over again. Laela. He did not know what it meant, but he said it again and again. He wandered into urgal country without realising it, but the urgals did not find him. He could hide himself in the shadows and stay there, not moving at all, unseen and unheard, watching the hulking brutes walk by. Once he fainted not far from an urgal longhouse, but when two of them happened upon him they prodded him one or twice before deciding he was dead and leaving him there to wake up and move on.

And then, at long last, a day came when he woke up and looked at his hands and knew they were his. It was as if a veil had been ripped away from his eyes, and he touched himself, feeling his hair, his clothes, his face. That was when he remembered he was human.

'Where have I been?' he asked himself aloud. The words sounded strange in his mouth. He hadn't spoken for so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like.

He tried to remember how he had come to be where he was, but all he could recall was a vague and endless vision of snow and cold winds. His clothes were in rags, his hair matted, and his chin was covered by a rough beard. And he was thin, so thin, and weak.

There was a long, white-bladed sword on his back. He recognised that. Yes, that was his. And when he searched inside his robe he found a thin silver circlet set with a blue stone. It was a crown. But he couldn't say which King had worn it.

He tried to remember where he was supposed to be going. All he knew was that he should head South. Because home was that way, and he had to get there to be safe. His mother was waiting for him there, and his father. They could help him.

The passage of a few more days found him wandering along a road which had led him out of the Icelands, through a passage in the Spine and back into inhabited land. A farmer, driving a wagon of vegetables, saw the ragged figure by the side of the road. He draw level with it and called out; 'Here, you – are you all right?'

The figure stopped and turned, looking at him, then staggered toward the wagon and took hold of the sideboard, his fingers digging into the wood like claws. The farmer recoiled when he saw his face; pale and sunken as a corpse's, the eyes burning with insanity. 'Get away from me!' he yelled, and hit the apparition in the face with the handle of his whip.

The man – the creature – staggered backward with a cry of pain, blood trickling from a wound in his forehead. But then he lifted his right hand to touch the wound and mumbled a couple of strange-sounding words. White light glimmered around the cut, which healed without a sound.

The farmer gaped at him. 'How did you _do_ that?'

The stranger did not reply. But as his hand fell away from his face, the farmer could see the silvery mark on his palm. 'Oh my gods,' he breathed. 'You're a-,'

'Help me,' the stranger rasped, stumbling after the wagon and holding out his hands in supplication. 'Please, help me.'

The farmer tugged on the reins, bringing the wagon to a halt at once. 'Of course I'll help you,' he said. 'I'm so sorry, my Lord, I didn't – here, climb up.'

The ragged man was stronger than he looked. He climbed up and sat down beside the farmer, who saw the filth that clung to him, his torn clothes and matted hair, the crusted beard and sunken eyes. But there was a magnificent white-bladed sword slung on his back, and on his finger there was a gold seal ring bearing the emblem of the riders. He said nothing, but huddled on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees.

The farm urged his horses on. 'How did you end up like this, my Lord?' he asked, unable to hide his horror. 'Who did this to do? Where's your dragon?'

The ragged creature, who, the farmer now realised, was barely more than a boy, shuddered. 'I don't know,' he whispered. 'I don't know.'

'But who are you?' the farmer persisted. 'What's your name?'

'I have no name.'

The words were said in a strange, flat voice which frightened the farmer. 'Well,' he said, trying to sound respectful. 'Where should I take you?'

The boy's hands twisted, the fingers hooking themselves into the rags he wore and making the cloth disintegrate. 'Home,' he said, again and again. 'Take me home. Take me to Teirm. To my home. She's waiting for me there, she's waiting, I have to go to her…'

'All right, my Lord,' the farmer nodded. 'I'll take you there as quick as I can.'

They travelled on in silence. The boy stayed still, only the slight movement of his back indicating that he was asleep and not dead. The farmer could see that he was half-dead from exhaustion and starvation, and the possibility that he might die frightened him. If the riders found out that he had let one of their own die…

He nudged him awake. 'Here,' he said, offering him a bundle of food. 'Eat.'

The boy ate like a wild animal, tearing at the bread and dried meat with his teeth. The farmer looked away, embarrassed, but made no comment.

Food seemed to revive the boy somewhat. He looked at his surroundings with a slightly more alert expression, then looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers and watching them move. 'I wonder what happened to my gloves?' he said aloud, in a bizarrely calm tone of mild curiosity. 'I think I must have eaten them.'

The farmer glanced at him. 'Do you feel better now, my Lord?'

'Yes, thankyou,' said the boy, taking him by surprise. 'I can't remember the last time I ate real food. Where are we going?'

'To Teirm,' said the farmer. 'You asked me to take you there.'

The boy nodded. 'Yes, that's right. I remember now. She's waiting for me there.'

'Do you know who you are now?' the farmer asked.

The boy shook his head vaguely. 'She can tell me. When I find her, she'll tell me.'

'Who will?'

The boy went rigid and began to tremble. 'No,' he mumbled. 'No, don't. Can't. I – _help me!'_ The words suddenly rose into a scream, and he began to thrash and convulse, his hands jammed into his chest as if he were trying to reach his own heart. The farmer grabbed hold of him, trying to calm him down, his heart pounding.

After a time the boy stilled. When the farmer tried to wake him up, he suddenly lurched forward over the board at the front of the wagon and was violently sick. Then he slumped back in his seat, his breathing fast and shallow.

The farmer brought the wagon to a halt and frantically touched the boy's face. 'Oh gods no, don't die on me, please…'

The boy stirred and looked up at him. 'I know who I am,' he whispered. 'I know.'

Deeply relieved, the farmer picked up the flask of water that sat beside him and thrust it into the boy's hands. 'Here, drink,' he said, unscrewing the cap for him.

The boy drank, water overflowing from his mouth and soaking into his beard. It seemed to calm him down a little, but his eyes continued to wander madly to and fro. 'I'm a King,' he said. 'That's who I am. I'm the King of the elves. King of the outcasts, King of ash and snow. The great King.'

The farmer blinked. 'Are you all right, my Lord?'

The boy laughed at that; a dead, humourless, crazed laugh. 'Oh, never better,' he said, his voice returning to something resembling normality. 'Never better.'

He slept again after that

For the next week or so the farmer took him toward Teirm, not knowing what else to do. Several times he suggested simply giving him over to the care of some local official in one of the towns or villages they passed through, but for some reason the boy was violently against the idea. He reacted with terror at the mere suggestion of it, and would huddle pathetically where he sat, as if expecting to be attacked, pleading with him not to do that. 'Only take me home,' he said, again and again. 'I want to go home.'

So that was what the farmer did. He stayed away from populated areas, only going into them alone to buy food before returning to whatever camping spot he had selected. He took care of the boy as best he could; though he couldn't afford to buy new clothes for him he took the ragged robe he wore and washed and darned it as well as he could. He made sure the boy stayed close to the fire at night, and gently encouraged him to eat as much as he could.

He got very little sense out of the boy; sometimes he was relatively coherent, but he remained scared and bewildered, either unwilling or unable to give his name or say where he had come from or what had happened to him to reduce him to the state he was in. Sometimes he would have a panic attack and try to flee or injure himself, but he was too weak to really be a danger to himself, and gave in easily enough. But that wasn't to say that he was completely helpless. He knew how to use magic, and did so; lighting a strange black fire for them every time they camped, one which did not need fuel and which gave off no smoke. Once when the farmer injured himself on a nail jutting from the wagon, the boy gently reached over and healed him with a few words. He was attuned to danger, and three times they narrowly avoided a potentially dangerous encounter with bandits or wolves only because of his warnings and quick thinking.

Then, when they were a day away from Teirm, he disappeared during the night, vanishing into the countryside as if he had never been.

The boy with no name slipped into the city in the dead of night, unseen by anyone. He could move in shadows. The night was his friend.

He felt much stronger now, thanks to the better food he'd had on the journey, but he was by no means strong enough to fight or use his magic for anything bigger than healing a cut or lighting a fire. But he didn't think of that. He couldn't seem to think about anything much any more. Whenever he tried to remember who he was or how he had come to be where he was, the memory slipped away from him. He was calmer now, though, and more focused. He could speak again, and read, and he knew how to use magic. But it was only the most rudimentary sort of functioning. All he knew was that he had to get home. The thought filled him, subsuming all other thoughts and feelings, an inner force that dragged him on, made him eat, made him wake, made him walk. When he got home, everything would be all right. She was waiting for him there. His parents were waiting, and his friends. They were all there, just waiting for him to come to them. They would help him, he knew it in his heart of hearts.

As he walked through the darkened streets, his boots making no sound on the cobbles, he found a powerful feeling of familiarity moving through him. He knew this place, knew it very well. This was his place. Home was here somewhere.

On a street corner, in the faint light coming from a nearby window, he found a wooden board with pieces of paper nailed to it. They were notices, put there for people to read. He remembered that.

But what had caught his eye about it was right in the centre. It was a large poster, its edges damp and ragged. On it was a drawing of a boy with curly hair and cold eyes. He was handsome in a sharp, slightly alien kind of way, and finely dressed. Beside him was a drawing of a long sword with a diamond set into the hilt and a spiral pattern engraved on the blade. And beside that was a sketch of a dragon with a long, narrow face and slender build, like a swan.

For some reason the poster felt important. He read it, tracing the words with his finger and squinting in the gloom. Reading was still a little tricky, and the letters kept going in and out of focus.

_WANTED: ARREN CARDOCKSON OF TEIRM_

_Also known as Galbatorix Taranisäii, guilty of high treason and the breaking of oaths sworn to the Rider Elders. This fugitive is highly dangerous and is in the company of a white female dragon known as Laela. He bears a white-bladed sword with a silver hilt and set with a large diamond. Any sighting or information will earn the one who reports it a reward of fifty gold coins. You are advised against any attempt to approach him, as he will most likely attack to kill if cornered. You are also hereby commanded not to make any attempt to kill him; such an action would be considered murder and punished accordingly. _

The boy read this several times, and then turned away, wondering why he had noticed it in the first place.

His pace quickened. He was close to home now.

Turning a corner, he entered a street that felt like home. He knew every house on it. It was the next one along…

He stopped dead. The inner voice that had led him to the spot suddenly died, and all the certainty he had left collapsed in on itself, leaving him with nothing but a strange cold bewilderment.

He stepped forward slowly, and stopped again when his boot scraped against a blackened beam. Then, dropping to his knees, he began to sift through the ashes, pulling aside bits of charred wood and coughing when delicate white flakes swirled upward into his face.

There was nothing there. No house. No people waiting for him. Nothing but a heap of rubble, burnt beyond recognition.

The boy knelt there in the middle of the devastation, feeling nothing at all. He heard a strange rasping and shuddering sound, and wondered where it was coming from. It took him a few minutes to realise that he was sobbing. His hands seemed to know what they wanted to do. They thrust themselves into the ashes, scooping out a deep hole. Then they reached into his robe and brought out four objects – a necklace with a stone pendant, a silver seal ring, a silver circlet and a small wooden comb carved with dragon designs. Working silently with tears running down his face, he buried them as deeply as he could and then turned and staggered away.

But now he had nowhere to go, and no inner voice to pull him on. His walk became erratic, and he wove his way along the streets as though drunk, not noticing when he banged into walls and fences. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. But in spite of that he kept on going, wandering here and there. Several times he stopped and sat down somewhere, but he couldn't rest. He got up again each time and walked on, all thought of hiding forgotten.

Dawn came and people began to appear in the streets to begin the day. They were shocked to see the appalling vision that had appeared in their midst. A pale, filthy remnant of a human being who wandered past, mumbling to himself, looking not at them but through them, apparently oblivious to everything in his path. He got several kicks and abusive shouts, along with sympathy and questions, but he showed no reaction to any of them. People watched him go with mingled contempt and curiosity. Not one of them ever considered the fact that pathetic creature could possibly be one of them, let alone the former governor of the city.

At last, around midday, the boy wandered into an alleyway behind a tavern and finally came to a stop. He stood still for a few seconds, then collapsed.

He lay there, unnoticed, for hours. At last a couple of men walking by saw him and came to investigate. When they found he was unconscious, they started to rifle through his pockets for valuables. One of them saw the sword on his back, and grinned disbelievingly. 'Ye gods, Eldred, look at that! Damn if this isn't my lucky day!'

'What d'you mean, _your_ lucky day?' said Eldred.

'Ah, screw you,' said his friend, taking hold of the sword's hilt and starting to pull it out of its sheath. The instant he saw the blade he swore and let go of it as if he'd been burned, scrambling away from the ragged boy with a loud oath.

Eldred saw the sword. 'Oh my gods in heaven,' he breathed. 'It's-!' he grabbed the boy's limp right hand, pulling it up and turning it over to look at the palm. Sure enough, there was a faded silver circle standing out against the pale skin.

The other man craned over to look at it. 'Oh gods, no. That's a rider's mark, Eldred. It's gotta be.'

Eldred let go of the boy's hand. 'But _here?_ A rider, here? And lookin' like this?'

'You know who this is, Eldred. It's him. It's the traitor they're looking for.'

Eldred looked at his companion, and a slow grin spread over his face. 'Lan, this is our lucky day.'

Lan glanced around nervously, then took hold of the boy's shoulder. 'C'mon, let's get him out of here, quick as we can. We don't want anyone else seein'.'

Eldred helped him, and together the two men lifted the unconscious boy and carried him between them up through the streets as fast as they could, toward the castle. The guards let them in as soon as they saw what they had with them, and in moments word had spread through the castle and the governor came running.

Lan and Eldred bowed respectfully to her when she entered the small guard-chamber they had brought their find into. 'We found him, milady,' said Eldred.

The governor said nothing, but went straight to the boy's side. She faltered slightly when she saw his face, then looked up at the two men. 'Where did you find him?'

'In the alley behind the Sign of the Naked Rat.'

'He was like this when you found him?'

'That's right, milady,' said Lan. 'Honest. We figured out who he was when we saw the sword an' the mark on his hand, so we brought him here straight away.'

The governor nodded curtly. 'Well done.' To a guard by the door she said, 'Aliero, give these men a hundred gold coins apiece and send them on their way.'

'Yes, milady. You two, come with me.'

Lan and Eldred left, with many respectful remarks. Once they were gone, the governor turned her attention to the boy lying on the table. She touched his neck, checking for a pulse. There was one, albeit a faint one, and she began to check expertly for injuries. There was a badly-healed burn mark on his shoulder, but other than a few cuts and bruises he was uninjured. But his skin was thin and his bones jutted painfully through it, and she could tell that he had nearly starved to death.

She looked down at the hollow, barely recognisable face of what Galbatorix had become. 'Oh gods… what did they do to you?'

At the sound of her voice, Galbatorix's hand moved suddenly, taking hold of hers and gripping it weakly. His eyes opened and looked up at her, and she saw the insanity burning behind them. 'How are you?' she said softly.

Galbatorix looked at her, his expression oddly blank. But faint recognition showed in his face, and his cold grip on her hand tightened slightly. 'I know you,' he mumbled. 'Do I?'

The governor clasped his hand in hers. 'It's me,' she said. 'It's Carina. Do you recognise me?'

His head lolled sideways slightly. 'Do you know me?' he said.

'I know you,' said Carina. 'You're Galbatorix.'

'_Galbatorix_…' he repeated the name, almost in a whisper, and then his face twisted with pain. His hand began to tremble in hers, and then, at last, she saw a shadow of the brash young student she had once known show through in his face. 'Oh gods,' he moaned, his eyes focusing on her with a new alertness. 'Galbatorix, oh gods, help me, Carina, please gods, help me-,'

Carina could not help herself. She embraced him tightly, feeling how frighteningly thin and fragile he was in her arms. 'Oh gods, Galbatorix, how did this happen? Where have you been?'

He clung to her pathetically. 'Help me, Carina,' he said again. 'Please, help me. I'm lost. I don't know where… can't… I can't find her, Carina.'

Carina let go of him. 'I can't,' she said softly. 'I'm sorry, Galbatorix, but there's nothing I can do for you. The elders want you back in Ilirea. They had the whole country looking for you. Where did you go? What happened to you?'

He grinned manically at her. 'I was a King,' he said. 'You should've – shouldn't – should've s-seen me, Carina, I was a King, I had a crown and everything and they called me Sire, and…' the grin faded suddenly, and he lurched forward, grabbing hold of her tunic. 'Where is she?' he said, his hands shaking, his voice full of desperate entreaty. 'Do you know where she is?'

Carina tried to gently make him let go of her, but he wouldn't. 'I don't understand,' she said. 'Who are you looking for?'

Galbatorix let go of her and tried to stand up, but crumpled to the floor. Carina lifted him up again, and he hung limply in her grip, mumbling and shaking. 'Where is she?' he said, again and again. 'Where? Where? Will she come and find me? I need her, Carina, please, tell her where I am, tell her to come find me…'

Carina gestured to the guards to help her. 'There's nothing I can do for you,' she said again, hating herself for saying it. 'You can't stay here, Galbatorix. You have to go home.'

The guards carried him out of the room, and he suddenly began to struggle, trying to break free, reaching toward Carina. '_HELP ME!_'

Carina couldn't bear to look. She turned away. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered, shuddering as tears wet her face. 'I'm so sorry.'

The next few days passed in a blur. His sword was taken from him, and Carina cast a spell over him that put a block in his mind to stop him using magic. He was well-fed and given healing potions to build up his strength, and Carina spoke to him several times, asking him to tell her where he'd been and what had happened to him. She got very little sense out of him, though, and in the end she kept away.

Later he was put in chains and led out to a large wagon that had a kind of cage built over it. There was a bench inside, and he was shackled to it with a number of other prisoners before the cage door was locked and the wagon moved off.

Galbatorix sat between two other ragged and desperate figures, his head bowed. Other prisoners struggled and yelled abuse at their guards, but he ignored them. He sat very still, his shoulders hunched, sometimes muttering to himself. From time to time he raised his head and looked around, his wild eyes roving here and there as if in search of something, but whatever it was he didn't find it, and he soon lowered his head once more. One or two of his fellow prisoners tried to talk to him, but quickly lost interest when they saw his face.

When food was brought to them he ate ferociously, even striking other prisoners in order to steal what they had. When a guard tried to intervene he threw himself at the bars in a frightening display of violence and rage, teeth bared and snarling like a wolf, heedless of any blows that landed on him. The others in the cage came to fear him; even in his weakened state he was freakishly strong. The guards finally took to drugging his food, and that kept him quiet most of the time. But more than once he appealed to those around him, fixing them with a powerful stare and asking them if they knew where "she" was. He asked again and again, only apparently half-aware of the answers he got, and that was more or less all he ever said to anyone.

Ilirea came in sight, and the prisoners watched it get closer with apprehensive expressions. The boy with the matted black hair showed no reaction at all.

The wagon entered the city and drew to a stop at the base of the tallest tower, and a guard opened the cage door and pointed at the prisoners. 'Get moving, you lot, no screwin' around. Go on, move!'

The shackles were undone and the prisoners slowly filed out of the cage, still manacled together at the wrists. They were received by a new group of guards, who silently led them away into the tower's eerily white interior. At the top of a flight of stairs that led down into the dungeons, two guards singled out the black-haired boy, taking him between them and holding him still. The other prisoners were taken to the dungeons, and the guards led the boy away and upstairs into the tower. He went with them meekly enough, dragging his chains and stumbling on the stairs. But the guards helped him, sometimes half-carrying him when he faltered, up and into a huge cavernous room halfway up the tower.

That was where the elders were waiting. They stood there with their dragons, in a semicircle as always, watching as the boy was brought before them. His guards took him to the centre of the circle, and there Vrael was waiting, his pale eyes fixed on the boy. The guards bowed to him, and one said; 'Here he is, Lord Vrael. Shall we go?'

Vrael nodded curtly. 'Go and wait outside the door. We will call for you when we need you.'

The guards departed, leaving the boy standing there alone.

Vrael looked at him, taking in the sight of him with no expression on his face save disgust. 'Kneel, you piece of filth.'

The boy looked up and tried to walk toward him, but his chains weighed him down and he fell forward.

When he hit the ground, it was as if a window had opened in his mind. A horrible pain ripped into his chest, and he cried out faintly, his mind a confused mass of sounds and images.

'Well?' said Vrael. 'Have you anything to say for yourself?'

That was when he remembered everything. It all came back at once, filling his mind like icy water. He remembered who he was, and everything that had happened, all in that one moment. He looked up and saw Vrael's cold, contemptuous face looking down on him.

'Murderer.'

The word was faint, but it echoed through the chamber.

Vrael blinked. 'Arren Cardockson of Teirm,' he said. 'You have been found guilty of high treason and the breaking of oaths. Have you anything to say to us?'

Galbatorix slowly stood up, facing his former master and lifting his head to look him in the eye. 'Murderer,' he said again.

Vrael ignored him. 'Where have you been?' he demanded in a more normal voice. 'Your idiocy cost the lives of your two friends, and your dragon as well. Why didn't you come back to us? We were looking for you for months.'

Galbatorix said nothing.

'Very well then,' said Vrael. 'If you have nothing to say, then I will pass sentence on you now. Arren Cardockson of Teirm-,'

'Murderer!' this time Galbatorix shouted the word, starting accusingly toward Vrael, his hand rising to point at him. 'You murderer! You killed her! You killed Laela!'

'Arren Cardockson of Teirm,' Vrael began again.

Galbatorix ripped the seal ring from his finger and hurled it onto the floor. 'Arren Cardockson is dead,' he said. 'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii. Last son of the House of Taranis, last of the dark elves, and I will have my revenge if it takes me a hundred years.'

'The boy is insane,' said elder Oromis. He called for the guards, and they came as fast as they could, restraining Galbatorix as he fought to get at Vrael.

'Take him away,' Vrael commanded. 'Take him to the dungeons and whip him. Tomorrow he will die the traitor's death, according to the law.'

'NO!' Galbatorix screamed as the guards hauled him away. 'No! Murderer! All of you, murderers! You killed Laela! You killed her! Murderers!'

But no-one heard him. The door slammed shut and the elders were gone, and the guards took him away back down the stairs, toward the dungeons where eternal night awaited him.


	23. Salvation and a Shade

Chapter Twenty-Three

Salvation and a Shade

In spite of his exhaustion and weakness, Galbatorix fought every step of the way back toward the dungeons. Even though his hands were chained together, he hurled himself at his guards, shoving them against the walls and trying to kick and headbutt them, ignoring their armour and weapons. They hit him to try and subdue him, but he fought on, like a wild animal in captivity, his eye blackening and blood coming from his nose, wrenching at his chains.

It could not save him. He was taken down to the dungeons, into a room where a wooden frame stood in the middle of the floor. The guards pulled his robe off, leaving him clad in nothing but his boots and trousers, and shackled his wrists to the frame above his head. Half-hanging by the wrists, he forced his head around and saw one of them pick up a whip.

'No! Stop! Stop it! _AARGH!'_

The whip came down for the first time, and then again and again. He screamed and cursed at them, trying desperately to break free, but the whip continued to strike him, breaking the skin in a hundred different places and leaving deep, bleeding welts.

And Galbatorix Taranisäii screamed.

In the elders' cave high above, an argument was taking place. Saraswati confronted Vrael, openly angry with him for the first time in years. 'For the love of gods, Vrael, you can't do this! It's inhuman!'

'The law must-,'

'To hell with the law!' Saraswati shouted. 'Have you lost your mind? How could you do this to someone?'

'Saraswati, the boy is a traitor,' said Vrael, trying to stay calm. 'He must be punished, or we will have failed.'

'I agree with Saraswati,' said Yansan. 'You saw him, Vrael. He's suffered enough.'

'Are you saying I should spare him?' Vrael asked coldly, his anger rising. 'After what he did?'

'I don't care what he did,' said Yansan. 'No-one should suffer like this. Are we tyrants like the kings of old? Your kind taught us compassion, and we must show it now or we will have made monsters of ourselves.'

There was an angry muttering from among the elders at large. Yansan and Saraswati, the two humans, glanced at each other but stood firm. But the remaining three, Oromis, Menulis and Vrael, remained steadfast.

'You know what he is,' said Menulis. 'We all know. He violated the very meaning of what it is to be rider when he became one of us, and that cannot go unpunished.'

'_You!_' Vrael burst forth, turning furiously toward the other elf. 'You're to blame for all this! You let the creature live! What were you thinking? You should have had the cursed monster killed at birth, but what did you do?'

'I couldn't kill a child,' Menulis snapped back. 'How could I? I am a rider and I value life. Even the life of a half-breed.'

'Even the life of a traitor?' Vrael sneered.

Menulis hesitated. 'No. A traitor's life is worthless. I cannot disagree with you there.'

'Just kill him,' said Saraswati, taking hold of Vrael's arm. 'Please, Vrael. Have mercy on him. Don't make him suffer the traitor's death. Just kill him quickly, in private. Make a quick end to it.'

Vrael hesitated. 'I cannot be soft on traitors. No matter who they are. Justice must be seen to be done, and if we are kinder to one of our own it will be seen as favouritism.'

'Vrael, the boy is insane,' said Yansan. 'Anyone can see that. There is no justice or satisfaction in killing someone who probably isn't even aware of why it is happening. If we bring him out into the open air in the state he's in, what will that look like? You tell me that, if you can.'

'Don't you _dare_ question me,' Vrael spat, while behind him Nöst bared his teeth in a snarl. 'For as long as I remain ruler of Alagaësia, disloyalty will be punished with death. The boy will die the traitor's death, tomorrow. That is my will.'

Oromis nodded. 'I agree. It must be so.'

Menulis hesitated a moment, then said; 'I agree also.'

Vrael looked challengingly at Saraswati. She faltered, and then glanced at Yansan, silently asking him for his support.

Yansan looked around at Oromis, Menulis and Vrael, and then sighed. 'If that is your will, Lord Vrael, then so be it.'

Saraswati said nothing. She turned her back on Vrael and nimbly climbed onto the back of her own dragon, Vandana, who flew out of the cave without pausing to acknowledge the other elders.

So it was that Galbatorix's fate was sealed.

By the time the guard put down the whip, Galbatorix's back was a mass of torn and bloodied flesh. He hung limply from the frame, the manacles drawing blood from his wrists, the last of his resistance gone, his harsh, wounded breathing the only sound he made. One of the guards unfastened the manacles, and he crumpled onto the floor. They roughly put his robe back on him, and then dragged him away by the shoulders, out of the room and into the dungeon corridors. They passed several occupied cells along the way. From one of them, an old elf watched them pass and sighed.

When they reached the empty cell at the end of the corridor, the guards kicked the door open and dumped their prisoner inside. He made no attempt to get up. One of the guards departed. The other paused for a moment in the doorway. 'Sit there and think about what you've done, half-breed,' he sneered. 'D'you know what they do to traitors? In the morning they'll hang you, tear your guts out and then rip your heart out and show it to the crowd. Should be a sight to see. Does a half-breed even have a heart? I dunno, but I'm gonna watch to find out.'

The door slammed shut, leaving Galbatorix alone. He made no move for some time, but eventually he managed to get up off the floor. He dragged himself into a corner and huddled there, curled up with his face in his hands.

Time dragged on in the darkness. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. It felt like years. He dozed fitfully, woke and then slept again. And he dreamed strange fragmented dreams. But all the while, waking or sleeping, he could not rid himself of the vision that burnt in his brain. He saw Laela die, over and over again, her eyes looking into his, her pain his torment, her death his destruction. There was no release in madness now. His memories had returned, and they were a far worse torture than the lash-marks on his back. He cried alone in the dark, sobbing weakly into his hands, his mind screaming out for her. _Laela._

But there was no answering voice, and there never would be again. Laela was dead.

Later, when he revived a little, he looked around in the dim light and found a jug of water that had been placed in the cell for him. He lifted it in his shaking hands and drank deeply. As he rested between swallows, looking blankly into the jug, he saw something looking back. It looked like the face of a corpse. Sunken and waxy, the lower half obscured by matted black hair, one side bruised and swollen and the nose crusted with blood. But the eyes that stared out of it were not even remotely human.

Galbatorix knew he was looking at himself. He let out an anguished scream and hurled the jug away. It shattered against the wall, and before he knew what he was doing he had risen to his feet and thrown himself at the cell door, battering himself against it in a maddened frenzy.

His body thumped against the solid wood, sending pain crackling through him, but he continued to hit the door with all his strength, raving and screaming, shouting one word over and over again. _'LAELA! LAELA!'_ Madness took him again, and he punched the door as hard as he could. His fingers made an audible cracking sound when they broke, and he laughed.

But his burst of energy did not last long, and in the end he fell onto his stomach once more and lay still, his back bleeding. In the instant that he hit the floor, a wave of powerful despair swept over him. He was going to die. The riders had him again, and this time there would be no escape. It was all over. His life was finished when it had barely begun. Tomorrow he would be killed; broken and dismembered before a jeering crowd, just like the one that had come to taunt his parents.

Yet the prospect did not scare him. Here and now, when he was aware of himself once more and able to remember what had happened and know what he had become, he no longer wanted to live.

When at last he heard the cell door open, he welcomed the sound. He lay absolutely still and let them lift him off the floor, his head hanging, eyes closed. From somewhere far, far away he heard a voice.

'…Arren? Arren, can you hear me?'

Galbatorix mumbled something unintelligible.

A hand touched his face, and a second voice said; 'My gods, Arren, what did they do to you?'

Galbatorix found his voice again. 'Laela…'

'Arren, it's me,' the first voice said. 'It's Brom. I've come to help you.'

Galbatorix forced his eyes open. Instead of the cruel faces of the guards, he saw Brom and Morzan looking at him, their expressions full of concern. _Brom. Morzan._ The names wandered through his mind, and he sighed and let his head drop again.

Brom looked at Morzan. 'Come on, Morzan, let's get him out of here.'

The two riders carried Galbatorix out of the cell, as quickly and quietly as they could. He found his feet and stumbled along between them, too confused to know what was going on. A couple of guards challenged them, but Brom said; 'We're taking him. Don't even think about stopping us. You never saw anything, understand?'

The guards withdrew, too much in awe of the two riders to interfere.

Morzan and Brom took Galbatorix out of the tower under cover of darkness, and only stopped when they were in the open air. There they took shelter in an alley and had a hurried, whispered argument.

'How're we going to get him out of the city? Someone's bound to see us…'

'So what? We'll tell 'em to mind their own damn business, what're they going to do to us?'

'Someone'll tell Vrael, you idiot, if he finds out it was us-,'

'I know what to do.'

They froze. 'What?' said Brom.

It was Galbatorix who had spoken. He straightened up, moving away from them to stand on his own two feet, and they stared at him in astonishment.

'Arren, are you all right?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix fixed him with a look that made him cringe. 'My name is Galbatorix. Galbatorix Taranisäii. Let me help you.' He took two steps back, and vanished.

Brom and Morzan gasped. 'What the-?' Brom started.

Galbatorix reappeared. 'Use the shadows,' he commanded them. 'Follow me.'

He melted away into the darkness. They just barely saw a shadow move away down the street, and they hurried after it as fast as they could go. Galbatorix led them through the city, weaving in and out of the streets, keeping to the shadows. They nearly lost him several times, but the faint sound of his feet on the ground was just enough. Neither of them could disappear as he did, but they did their best to keep hidden until they reached the edge of the city, and there he reappeared by one of the gates and stood there, waiting for them.

Brom caught up, panting. 'How did you _do_ that?'

Galbatorix grinned at him; a horrible, crazed, wolfish grin. 'Because I am Galbatorix,' he said. The grin disappeared suddenly and he looked at both Brom and Morzan with a strange, folorn expression. 'Do you know where she is?' he asked them abruptly. 'I can't find her.'

'Find who?' said Morzan.

'Laela. I don't know where she is. Do you know where I can find her?'

Brom and Morzan exchanged glances. 'She's dead, Galbatorix,' Brom said softly. 'Don't you remember?'

Galbatorix looked at him blankly. 'Dead? But… I don't… I can't…' he turned suddenly and darted through the gate. Brom and Morzan ran after him and into the trees beyond, where they halted. There was no sign of Galbatorix anywhere, and for a moment they thought they had lost him, but they found him standing by a tree, nearly invisible.

Morzan held out White Violence in its sheath. 'Here,' he said. 'I got it back for you.'

Galbatorix took it, holding it uncertainly as if he didn't know what it was. Brom gave him a bag of food. 'Take it,' he said. 'Get out of here and never come back. There's nothing more we can do for you.'

Galbatorix watched them with a wary expression. 'Flell,' he said suddenly. 'I remember… what happened to her? Where is she?'

'She finished her training,' said Brom. 'They sent her off on an assignment. I don't know where.'

'But what about the child?'

'Stillborn. I'm sorry, Galbatorix.'

His expression did not change. 'Thankyou,' he said quietly. 'Both of you.'

Brom shook his head. 'I couldn't let them kill you,' he said. 'I just… did you really do all those terrible things?'

Galbatorix looked at him, and Brom noticed that he was keeping his right hand cradled against his chest. 'I can't even remember any more,' he said. 'But it doesn't matter. I'm all over and done with. They killed me, Brom. They destroyed me. Get away from them. Don't let them turn you into an elf. Don't become them. Be human, Brom. Always be human…' his voice faded away, and so did he. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. Morzan peered at the ground where he had been standing, as if hoping to find some clue there.

'Look,' he said, pointing at a dark patch on the leaf-litter.

It was blood.

Later in life, when he looked back on those dark days and nights, he could never tell where or how he got the strength to do what he then did. While he was lying in his cell, waiting silently for death to come, he felt all but dead. But when Brom and Morzan had taken him out of there and into the open air, it was as if he had just woken up. The wild, animal instinct that had kept him alive on the terrible journey from the Icelands took over and led him out of the city and toward freedom.

He let himself vanish into the dark forest, and from then on things changed once more.

Mentally, he was a little better than he'd been before. There were still blanks in his memory, and from time to time he would be struck by crippling fear and grief, which at its worst would leave him unable to travel for days at a time. But he was no longer incapable of thought or reasoning. He was regaining a little of his humanity, slowly but surely, and his former panic attacks left and were replaced by something that was, in a way, worse. Where there had been fear and bewilderment, there was now nothing but a deep, dark coldness inside him. His haggard face became bare and empty of emotion, his stare hard and icy. It was not hope that drove him on now, but rage that hardened into a powerful, bitter determination to stay alive, to keep on going, not to give in and let his enemies win.

He travelled alone and in silence, moving in shadows at night, neither seen nor heard by anyone. He became a living shadow; a dark and nameless spectre with neither name nor face. After a time he was able to fight through the block in his mind and regain the use of his magic, but he did not have the energy to do more than crudely heal his broken fingers. The lash-marks on his back remained as they were, and he bore the pain stoicly, treating the wounds as best he could with whatever herbs he could find.

At night he would slip into homes and onto farmlands and steal food to keep his bag full. Twice he was caught doing this, but he was still fast. The first time he escaped into the forest and stayed in the shelter of a shadow, grimly watching the villagers hunting for him in vain. The second time he was cornered, but knocked his discoverer out cold and was gone by the time people came to investigate. But in spite of both these near misses, he was in little danger of being recognised. He had simply changed too much for that to happen. His face was obscured by his new beard, his clothes were rags, and he covered White Violence's hilt with mud and kept his still-injured right hand bound up with strips of cloth. His appearance now was that of a common beggar, and he was content for it to remain that way, although he derived some wry amusement from the fact that he kept absent-mindedly trying to comb the tangles out of his hair.

It was hard and dangerous life, but a simple one. He had only one goal besides staying alive; to find a place where he could hide until he had recovered his strength. Several times he found places where he was able to hang on for a few days, but he was always forced to move on. And he quickly found that he was not, after all, as strong as he had thought. The welts on his back became infected, and steadily worsened as the weeks went by. The infection poisoned his blood, and he became ill and feverish. Though he forced himself to keep going, the sickness was not something he could simply will away. It took hold of him and would not let him go. He slept more but suffered from fever-dreams that ate away at his already ragged sanity, and when awake he had spells of dizziness and confusion and was sometimes unable to see straight. The disease continued to progress, and he began to throw up and have fits of shaking and hallucinations, followed by occasional fainting.

He became too confused and distressed to continue hiding effectively, and at a place called Yazuac he was spotted and recognised by a rider who was in the area. There was a near-capture, a brief scuffle and an escape, and he fled over land toward the Spine. Driven by some peverse inner strength that might have been pure willpower, he reached a tiny village called Carvahall, and there his journey ended. Half-blind and shivering with fever, he slipped through the houses in the dead of night and took shelter in the forest beyond. There, he collapsed. And there he was found.

For a long time he wandered through a dream. He saw Laela. She was standing on a snowfield, large as life, alive and smiling at him, eyes bright. He ran to her, but could not reach her, and he realised that the snow all about was ashes and bones. Laela cried out to him, suddenly frightened, and as he strove in vain to get to her the skin sloughed away from her body, leaving only a skeleton behind. The empty eye-sockets stared accusingly at him, and then the bones collapsed in on themselves and crumbled into dust.

After that there was nothing. He slid in and out of consciousness, aware of nothing but burning heat all around him, as if he were lying in the middle of a fire. He was able to wonder, briefly, if he was dying.

At last – at long last – he opened his eyes and saw a face looking down at him. It was thin and pale, the forehead marked by eerie black tattoos. It looked human, but he knew it was not. The hair was crimson, and the eyes were the colour of blood, cold and powerful and without emotion.

There was a strange presence in his mind. He could feel it probing at him, as Laela had once done when she was trying to understand what he was thinking. But this presence was alien to him. It was hard, metallic, cold as the grave, and he could feel it boring into him like a worm. He fended it off, pushing it away. The presence resisted, but he was stronger than it was, and he rid himself of it after a brief struggle and shut it out of his mind.

The face above him creased slightly, as if in pain.

Galbatorix managed to find his voice. '_Who?_' he whispered.

The blood-coloured eyes examined him coolly, and after a few seconds a voice replied. 'I am Durza.'

That was all that was said for a long time. Galbatorix did not remember falling asleep, but he woke and slept again, for once untouched by dreams. When he woke again, he knew he was not going to die. He was in a cave, lying against one rough stone wall with several blankets over him. There was a fire burning somewhere off to his left. The red-eyed man who called himself Durza was nearby, and silently gave him some water. Galbatorix drank it. He wanted to ask where he was, but he couldn't find the words. He slept again.

The fever lasted for a long time. All he could do was sleep, wake and drink a little water every now and then. He lost all sense of time, all sense of place. There was only an endless _now._ Sometimes he dreamed and thought he was awake. Sometimes he was awake and thought he was dreaming.

The fever began to recede, and he slowly became more aware of his surroundings, enough to know that there was someone caring for him. A cool piece of wet cloth bathed his forehead, and warm hands touched him, encouraging him to take some water and a little food. It was those hands, that warm presence, that slowly brought him back to himself. And at last, one day, he woke up and saw the face.

Not Durza's. The face seemed to hover over him in a blaze of light, haloed by a glow of gold.

It was the face of an elf. And to him, at that moment, it was the most beautiful elf he had ever seen.

A curious sense of peace came to him. 'Who are you?' he murmured. 'You're beautiful.'

The elf started slightly, blinking in surprise when she saw he was awake. 'I'm Skade,' she said. 'How do you feel?'

'Weak,' Galbatorix said truthfully. 'But I'm getting better.'

The elf did not smile. When he shook off his confusion and looked at her properly, he was a little puzzled by the way she looked. There was a curious wildness about her appearance, and something not quite right about her face. Her long hair was silver – not grey, but true silver, with a strange shine to it, as if it were made from metal. Her skin had a faint silvery sheen to it, and when she spoke he noticed that her teeth were sharp, the canines protruding very slightly over the lower lip. And her eyes were… not elvish eyes at all. They were burning gold with slitted pupils. But to him she looked beautiful.

He sighed and lay still, knowing he was too weak to sit up just yet. 'I'm Galbatorix,' he said. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii.'

Skade brought him water. 'Here, drink,' she said. 'Can you eat something?'

He drank as deeply as he could, and felt some of the burning heat leave his body. 'I'll try,' he said.

Skade brought him dry bread. He couldn't chew it properly, so she soaked it in water for him and he was able to eat some of it, too hungry to care about how it tasted. He was aching to talk to her some more, but he slept again after that in spite of himself.

Next morning he woke up feeling much stronger. He was able to sit up with Skade's help, and she stayed with him and helped him to eat. When she got up to fetch more water, he watched her appreciatively. She wore a long, ragged silver gown that reminded him a little of Arthryn, and there was something a little odd about the way she moved. She did not have the easy grace he would have expected an elf to have; in fact she walked clumsily, frequently stopping and holding onto the wall to keep herself upright. In fact, just about everything she did was slightly awkward. There was a clumsiness in the way she gripped things, and a lack of expression in her face. At the same time, she had an odd way of looking quickly around her, her head making a little darting motion that reminded him of a bird.

There was a strange black mark on the side of her neck, like a tattoo, but shaped vaguely like a scar or a bolt of lightning. And, when she handed him a mug of water, he saw that her fingernails were curved black claws.

Yet all this only served to make him more and more fascinated by her. He waited until she was sitting beside him, and then said; 'Who are you, Skade? How did you find me?'

'I didn't,' she said abruptly. 'Durza did.'

'Durza…' the name sounded vaguely familiar.

'The Shade,' said Skade.

Galbatorix started. 'A _Shade?_'

'Yes. Didn't you know? There are two of them here.'

Galbatorix gripped his mug, blinking a little stupidly. This was more than he could cope with right now. He knew what a Shade was, of course. They were former human beings, once sorcerers who had dealt with dark spirits that were too strong for them. These spirits invaded the doomed sorcerer's body and turned it into a vessel for them. A Shade was extremely powerful in magic and notoriously difficult to kill. It was said that Shades had no capacity for any kind of emotion, and that they were only interested in one thing: power. Not power _for_ anything, but just power, and as much of it as could be found. Any kind of power. Magical, political, physical… anything.

'Why would a Shade bring me here?' he wondered aloud. 'Why not just leave me to die?'

'He took pity on you,' said Skade.

'_Pity?_ A Shade, feeling pity?'

'Shades can still be compassionate,' said Skade, a touch irritably. 'Rangda-,'

'Who?'

'Rangda is also a Shade,' said Skade. 'She brought me here. She and Durza are away right now. I've been looking after you.'

'I know,' said Galbatorix. 'And… thankyou for that.' He plucked up courage and took hold of her hand. She looked blankly at it, but made no attempt to pull away.

'It was nothing,' she said. 'I didn't… I felt sorry for you because of what the riders did to you.'

'Yes…' Galbatorix looked away. 'You know about that, do you?'

'Durza told me. He said your dragon died and the riders exiled you when you asked for another one.'

Galbatorix tried to remember what had happened that day. 'They wanted to kill me,' he said.

'I saw what they did to your back,' said Skade. She bared her sharp teeth suddenly, and a low growl rumbled in her throat. 'I hate the riders. I hate them as much as I hate elves. They're lying scum.'

Galbatorix sighed and put down the mug. 'I know, Skade. Oh, I know. But how did you get to be here?'

'The elves betrayed me,' said Skade. 'And the riders as well. My friend betrayed me, left me to suffer. I would have died, but Rangda found me.'

Galbatorix felt a powerful sympathy toward her. 'I'm sorry, Skade,' he said softly, squeezing her hand. 'I… well, I know what betrayal feels like. Believe me, I know.'

'I know you do,' said Skade. 'That's why… when they said you were a rider, I thought that meant you were my enemy. But when Durza told me what happened to you, I knew you were just like me.'

'What happened to you?' Galbatorix asked. 'What did they do to you?'

'They cursed me,' said Skade. Her normally expressionless face contorted. 'They _cursed_ me,' she snarled. 'Took away my dignity. Made me hideous.'

'You're not hideous,' Galbatorix told her.

Skade ignored him. 'They did this to me because of who my father was,' she said. 'I never even knew him, but they hated him. Those foul elves hated me…'

'Elves?' said Galbatorix. 'But _you're_ an elf.'

Skade roared. Her mouth opened wide, baring her sharp, animal teeth, and the sound that emerged was a sound no elf could ever make. It echoed through the cave, loud and savage. She turned on him furiously, hitting him in the chest, her claws slashing through the remains of his clothes. '_I – AM – NOT – AN ELF!_' she screamed.

Galbatorix fended her off as best he could, making no attempt to strike back. She calmed down slightly and stopped hitting him. 'I am not an elf,' she said again. 'Don't you dare say that, human. _Never_ say that.'

'I'm sorry!' Galbatorix exclaimed, too shocked to be angry. 'I'm sorry, Skade. I didn't – but you _look_ like an elf.'

'I am NOT an elf,' Skade rasped. 'They cursed me to look like this. They made me into the thing I hate. They destroyed me.'

_Destroyed…_ 'If you're not an elf, then what are you?'

Skade drew herself up proudly. 'I am a dragon,' she said. 'Skade Silverscales, daughter of the Night Dragon, hatched in Ellesméra.'

Galbatorix gaped at her. 'A _dragon?'_ And then, quite suddenly, he remembered. 'Oh my gods… you're _her._ You're the dragon who ran away with Einás the Egg-Guardian. You're the one who attacked Queen Islanzadí.'

Skade lost a little of her pride. 'I am,' she said.

'I saw you,' said Galbatorix. 'I saw you escape from Ellesméra that day. They told me to go after you, but I said no. I let you get away because I was tired of being told what to do by elves.' He grinned, the first true grin he'd worn in a long time. 'The other riders weren't happy.'

Skade smiled at that. It was the first smile he had seen her use since they had met. 'Thankyou for that,' she said. 'I'm sorry I attacked you. But being trapped like this is a nightmare.'

'I understand,' said Galbatorix, ignoring the stinging cuts on his chest. 'I mean… well… look what they made out of me.' He touched his face and grinned wryly. It was so strange to be making jokes again, but he liked it. It reminded him of being with Laela.

'You must be very strong,' Skade said softly. 'To survive for so long like that. I always thought humans were weak, but you're not.'

'Oh…' Galbatorix shrugged. 'Well. I suppose I kept on going because I didn't want them to beat me. But why…' he lost his smile. 'I don't know why I stayed alive. I have nothing left. The riders will find me, and then they'll kill me. But…' he looked straight at Skade, feeling a wild, mad courage, and said, 'But now I'm glad I didn't give up.'

'Why?' said Skade.

'Because-,' Galbatorix paused, then went on before his courage deserted him. 'Because now I've met you.'

Skade blinked at him, and then laughed. 'You're mad, human.'

He gave her a wounded look. 'I know.'


	24. Two Outcasts

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two Outcasts

From then on, Galbatorix's recovery was steady and assured. He stayed awake for longer periods, and ate as much as he could. Skade continued to minister to him as best she could, and, in a way, it was her presence as much as what she did for him that brought him out of the sickness and back toward life.

He could not get her out of his head. As the days passed, he thought of her more and more, as if his whole world now revolved around her. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because she was a dragon. Although she looked like an elf, the way she spoke and the way she acted was dragonish. Her ferocity, her flat way of speaking, her fighting spirit, and the unnatural heat that lingered around her… they were all a dragon's traits. Sometimes, when the lingering effects of the fever confused him, he thought she was Laela.

But she was not. She did not have Laela's dry sense of humour, or her mischievousness, or her reckless streak. Skade was a wild dragon, through and through. She was fierce and distant, she was savage, she was untamed. She was Skade.

He got her full story out of her soon enough.

'I hatched in Ellesméra,' she said. 'In Einás' home. My sister Saphira-,'

'Saphira?' Galbatorix said sharply.

'Yes. She's blue. She chose a rider.'

'Brom…'

'You know him?'

'Yes, we were trained together. So you're saying Saphira is your sister?'

Skade nodded. 'Saphira and I had been in our eggs for a very long time. Ever since the war.'

'Which war?'

'The one before the riders,' Skade said vaguely. 'When the elves and dragons fought.'

'The dragon war?' Galbatorix stared at her. 'But that was a thousand years ago!'

Skade nodded. 'Saphira and I, and our brother Kullervo, were stolen from our father by an elf called Eragon.'

'_Eragon?_ The first rider Eragon?' This was too much to take in.

'Yes. He hated my father, and he stole us from him. Einás kept us after her father left, and we stayed in her house for hundreds of years. Saphira hatched for Brom, and I hatched the same night because I wanted to find her. Einás raised me. I trusted her. I thought she was my friend. She promised she would help me find my father. But she lied to me. She tricked me. My brother, Kullervo, she bonded with him and became his rider. And then she betrayed me. She said we would go to Ilirea to ask the riders for help to find my father, but instead she handed me over to them to save herself. And they cursed me…'

Galbatorix took her hand. She was used to this gesture by now, and wrapped her fingers around his, gripping them awkwardly. 'Afterwards the riders sent me away. I wanted to die, but Rangda found me. She said she would help me to change back. And she brought me here for Durza's help. They can undo the curse together, when they're ready.'

Galbatorix had already seen the two Shades by this time. Rangda was just as thin and pale as Durza, but had white hair and pale silver eyes. The Shades took very little interest in him – Durza paused briefly to ask him if he was well, and left it at that, and Rangda said nothing at all. But Galbatorix had been shocked to find out the truth about them. Rangda and Durza were lovers. He saw them kissing passionately, and they spent most of their time away from the cave, walking out into the sunshine hand in hand. He had never, ever imagined that Shades were capable of loving each other, but here it was. It seemed the world was a bigger and stranger place than he had realised.

'What about you?' Skade asked, taking him by surprise. 'What are you going to do?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'I don't know.'

'Well, what do you want?' said Skade. 'I want to be changed back into a dragon, and to find my father. What do _you_ want, Galbatorix Taranisäii?'

He didn't know. Or rather he did know, but avoided thinking of it directly. But when Skade looked at him with that direct, challenging stare that he had come to know well, he couldn't hide it from her. 'I want revenge,' he said softly, staring into the fire.

'Revenge on who?' Skade asked.

'All of them.'

There was silence, and Galbatorix suddenly wondered what Skade would think. He looked at her, a little anxiously.

'Revenge,' the elf repeated inscrutably. 'On the riders?'

'On everyone who betrayed me.'

'Revenge is a thing for dragons,' said Skade. Then, suddenly and spontaneously, she smiled. Not with her mouth, but with her eyes. 'I like that. You're like a dragon.'

For some reason that made him feel warm with happiness. 'Thankyou, Skade.'

Later Skade left the cave, and he sat alone and thought.

Revenge. He had never really considered it before, but the more he thought about it the more he realised he wanted it. The worst of his suffering was over. The madness was gone, the sickness nearly so. But he had not escaped it unscathed. He knew that. Deep down, he admitted to himself that he would never be the same again. The cold, empty feeling inside him where Laela had been torn away was all he had left in the world. And he wanted to make them feel it. All he could think of was Vrael's cold face and contemptuous voice. _Half-breed. Filthy half-breed. _

His fists clenched as he saw them all in his head, the memories mocking him with his own impotence. The rider elders, condemning him, sending him away to be tortured and then killed. The two riders who had destroyed the only family he had ever had and then taken Laela from him forever and so torn his heart in half. Flell, betraying his trust and selling him to the elders in order to save her own hide. The elves who had mocked him and tried to make him ashamed of being himself. Even Carina, who he had trusted, sending him to Ilirea to face his death. So many people. They had worked together to destroy him, they had taken everything he held dear, leaving him with nothing. His home, his power, his love, his child, his dignity, and most of all his beloved Laela. All gone.

All he had left was his life, and his sword. And his rage.

He drew White Violence and held it tightly by the blade, not feeling it cut into his fingers. 'I swear,' he said. 'Laela, I swear. I swear by my life, my soul and my blood, I swear I will have revenge. I will have revenge for you, Laela.' He said it three times, first in the common tongue, then in the ancient one, and finally in the language of the dark elves, and afterwards he had a strange feeling of inevitability, as if he had just begun a new life. And he had.

He stood up, still holding White Violence, his face drained and empty, his mental voice wandering through his head, talking to itself as it had once talked to Laela. _Arren Cardockson is dead. He was murdered that day in the Icelands. He died with Laela. I am all that is left. I am the dark shadow that comes in the night. I am the rider without a dragon. I am the fear that lurks in every heart. I am the wielder of the white blade. I am the vengeful one. I am Galbatorix Taranisäii, and I will have my revenge. _

Filled by this voice, which was a cold and flat and commanding, he walked out of the cave and into the forest outside. It was broad daylight, but there was no sign of any people around. This cave was well out of sight of the village, and there was no chance of being seen here.

His walk was still a little unsteady, but he persevered. He moved on into the trees with something of his old grace returning to him. Once he had found an isolated clearing, he took up a fighting stance and began to practise with White Violence, stabbing and slashing at the air. It was heavy, much heavier than he remembered, and at first he nearly overbalanced. But he kept going. He chose a dead tree and began to attack it, hacking away twigs and branches and chipping flakes of bark away with an expert hand. His former confidence began to return, and that gave him some encouragement, but he tired quickly and eventually sheathed the sword. That was enough for today. He would try again tomorrow.

For the time being, he wandered among the trees, enjoying the clear air and the sunshine. So strange that such a beautiful day could exist, and that he could be out in it. In fact, as he felt the sun on his face and thought of Skade, he started to feel happy. He hummed to himself and let the feeling lift him out of his former misery. Seeing some purple anemones growing among the trees, he started to gather them into a small bouquet. He'd give it to Skade. She might like it…

He stopped dead as he slowly realised what he was doing. 'Oh, gods in heaven,' he mumbled.

He was mooning over a dragon. Not an elf, he reminded himself, a _dragon._ And now he was picking flowers for her? Was he out of his mind? He threw the flowers away, burning with humiliation. All his good cheer disappeared, and he stalked off back toward the cave, his shoulders hunched.

It was as he passed by a small stream that he heard the sobbing. He stopped dead, listening. Sure enough, the unmistakeable sound of someone quietly crying was coming from somewhere along the stream-bank. Unable to contain his curiosity, he walked quietly toward it, on the alert for any sign of danger.

It was Skade. The silver elf was sitting hunched by the water's edge, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking with sobs. Galbatorix stood hidden among some undergrowth, watching her. It was plain that the cause of her unhappiness was deep and profound; her sobs were broken and passionate and had clearly been going for some time. He watched her, embarrassed and guilty to be doing so, not wanting to spy on her like this but not knowing whether he should leave or reveal himself. Would she want him there? He didn't want to make her angry with him. Her anger was a dragon's anger, and frightening.

But his heart would not let him leave. He stepped into the open and moved hesitantly toward her, being sure to make plenty of sound so that she wouldn't think he was sneaking up on her. She looked up sharply, her red-rimmed eyes widening when she saw him, but she showed no sign of anger. Instead she turned her face away from him, trying to hide her tears. He sat down beside her and tentatively touched her on the shoulder.

'Skade…'

She let out a passionate cry, turning toward him and burying her face in his robe. He put his arms around her and held onto her as she cried, full of a desperate desire to free her of her misery. But there was nothing he could do but let her cry until her tears died up.

She calmed down after a time and tried to withdraw, but he embraced her again, her head on his shoulder, his hands in her hair. 'It's all right,' he said. 'It's all right, Skade.'

She relaxed against his thin body, his beard brushing against her face. 'Oh, Galbatorix. I can't stand it, I can't…'

Galbatorix let go of her, looking at her with concern. 'What is it, Skade? What's the matter?'

She sobbed again. 'I didn't mean to. I just couldn't… saw myself in the water… I'm so… I'm _hideous.'_

'No you're not,' Galbatorix said softly. 'You're not hideous at all, Skade.'

'Yes I am!' she burst out. 'Look at me! They made me a freak!'

'You don't look ugly to me,' said Galbatorix. 'You don't look ugly at all.'

Skade looked at him, her ferocity gone. 'I don't?'

'No. To me you're beautiful.'

'Don't mock me!' Skade snarled.

Galbatorix took her hand. 'I'm not!' he protested. 'I wouldn't do that, Skade. And to me you're beautiful. To me you're the most beautiful thing in the world.'

She faltered. 'I am?'

'You are.'

Skade looked at him suspiciously. He looked back, unflinching, and she relaxed. 'You're very strange, Galbatorix,' she said. 'But… I like you.'

He smiled bashfully. 'I like you too, Skade.'

Skade watched him without saying anything until the silence became uncomfortable, and then left quietly. Galbatorix watched her go with a strange sense of shame. He made no attempt to go after her, but stayed by the stream, alone.

The sun was setting. He looked into the water where Skade had seen the thing she hated most, and like her he saw what he had become.

He barely recognised himself. The boyish softness that had lingered about his features was now gone forever, and the little sprinkling of freckles he had had on his nose had also gone. He had grown up. The last of his youth had been stripped away from him, and what he saw now was not a boy but a man. A man with matted, filthy hair and a scruffy beard that obscured the lower half of his face. There were faint scars inflicted by fingernails on his cheeks and forehead, and from out of all that his eyes stared, hollow and desperate and hungry, with a spark of madness dancing somewhere inside their impenetrable black depths.

'Oh, gods,' he mumbled.

Was this what he had become? This pathetic piece of humanity, barely clinging onto a life that no longer had any joy in it?

He remembered his true name then. Fárbjóđr. _Destroyer. _But his true name right now should not be "destroyer" but "destroyed".

Without thinking he reached out for Laela, searching for her with his mind. But there was nothing there, any more than there had been the hundreds of other times he had tried to find her. It made his stomach give a little lurch, as if he were walking down a set of stairs in the dark and had missed a step. The madness was gone, but somehow he still couldn't quite grasp the fact that Laela was gone forever.

His stomach began to churn, and he went cold all over. The pain inside him from where Laela had been rose up once more, and a terrible fear and confusion rushed into his mind, smothering him. He huddled on the steam-bank, shivering until his mind cleared again, but when it did it left him full of a despair so profound that it crushed him. All around him, spectres rose to haunt him. He saw the faces of the elders, staring down at him, their accusing voices spiralling in his head.

_Half-breed! Traitor! Filth! Betrayer, betrayer, you betrayed us, bastard half-breed, worthless creature_

Galbatorix tried to blot the visions out, pathetically lashing out at something only he could see before he covered his head with his hands, moaning; 'Leave me alone!'

_The boy is insane,_ Oromis' disdainful voice whispered.

_Take him away. Let him die the traitor's death. The boy is insane. Take him to the dungeons and whip him, the boy is insane…_

The raw scars on his back twinged, and his head was full of his own screams, again and again, and beyond that, Laela's voice. _I don't want you to die, I don't want you to die, please don't die, don't leave me, please don't, please HELP ME!_

'LAELA!' the name ripped itself out of his throat. The visions and voices left, and he slumped forward, sobbing brokenly.

He was weaker than he had realised. His tears dried up after a time, and he dozed for a few minutes. When he woke up, it was as if clarity suddenly flooded into his mind.

A strange smile spread over his face. Of course. Of course! He _knew_ what to do now. It was all so simple…

He stood up quickly, and walked away into the trees. The sun was setting, and he came to a halt at the base of a large oak tree. There he untied the crude rope belt that fastened White Violence to his back, and gently laid the weapon down by the base of the tree. Then, taking hold of an overhanging bough, he pulled himself up the trunk, balancing awkwardly on a broken branch. Holding the rope in one hand, he tied it around the bough, tugging it to make sure it was secure. Working feverishly, he fashioned the other end into a noose and looped it around his neck, pulling it tight.

'I'm coming, Laela,' he whispered, and let himself drop.

Skade sat by the cave entrance and watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon. It would be night soon, and she was nervous. Galbatorix had not returned to the cave.

It was strange. She constantly told herself that she hated riders, but she could not make herself hate Galbatorix. It was not just because of what the riders had done to him, no – it went deeper than that.

It was the look in his eyes. She had seen it when he first looked at her and asked her who she was. It was a look that continued to show through from time to time, one she found herself unconsciously searching for in his face. There was a coldness about him, and a distance, as if he were not there inside, and that frightened her. But when he looked at her, there was life in him. And that look came through – that lost, wounded, frightened look. It made her want to reach out to him and hold him close, to take his pain away from him and tell him that everything was all right, that he was safe. She had resisted that urge; as a dragon it was not in her nature to be emotional.

But she had cried. She had cried and reached out to him for comfort, and he had held her. It was something she had never experienced before. To be embraced like that, to be touched… it was outside her experience, and had confused her, and she had left quickly, almost fleeing from this new and powerful feeling that she did not understand. She didn't know what it meant, whether it was a good or a bad thing, but she could not let herself forget about it. It stayed with her. Her mind was full of it. His body pressed against hers, his hands in her hair, the rough feel of his beard on her face, the soft sound of his voice, his warmth, his strength, his sympathy.

She brooded on it for a long time, wrestling with her emotions, trying to make herself understand what she was feeling. Was she angry with him? No. Nor was she afraid. But as she dwelt endlessly on that moment of warmth, a powerful longing awoke in her to see him again.

But he was not there.

Skade watched the sunset. It was not orange or gold as was usual in this part of the country, but a vivid, bloody crimson spread over the horizon. Where was he? Why hadn't he returned? He was still weak. Maybe he had collapsed again. Maybe he was even now lying helpless somewhere in the woods, vulnerable to the cold or wolves.

Skade got up, suddenly concerned. There was a horrible feeling of apprehension in her stomach. Without pausing another moment, she hurried away into the trees to look for him. Her sense of smell was still acute, and she lifted her head, letting the wind carry a hundred different scents into her nostrils. And, sure enough, she found his scent. It was sharp and musky, a wild, strong smell that filled her head with an image of him, and she ran toward its source as fast as she could, still clumsy on her new legs.

She reached the stream and followed its bank, her golden eyes piercing the gathering gloom with ease, letting her nose lead her on.

When she reached the spot among some oak trees where the trail ended, she paused, confused. There was some large, dark object hanging from a tree not far ahead, swinging gently to and fro. Skade looked at it, not knowing what it was. And then it moved.

She ran toward it, filled with panic, and in moments she was below it, looking up into Galbatorix's contorted face. He was hanging by the neck on a piece of rope, his hands rigid claws, his face slowly turning blue, twitching, choking, dying.

Skade panicked. She grabbed ineffectually at his feet, trying to pull him down, but it only made the noose tighten. Looking around desperately, she saw the sword lying at the base of the tree and picked it up, wrenching it out of its scabbard. It was sharp, and she took hold of the hilt as best she could and made a wild, clumsy swing.

White Violence's blade hit the rope close to the tree, instantly severing it, and Galbatorix dropped onto the ground. Skade threw down the sword and rushed to help him, loosening the rope and pulling it back over his head. She dropped it and touched his face with her fingertips, calling his name urgently.

He did not respond. Not knowing what else to do, Skade slapped him, hard.

It worked. He jerked, gasped, and began to cough violently. But after a few moments his breathing settled. The colour slowly returned to his face, and Skade felt cold with relief.

She touched his face again. 'Galbatorix, can you hear me? Wake up!'

He opened his eyes slowly. 'Sk-skade?' his voice was harsh and croaky. 'That – you?'

'Yes, it's me, Galbatorix. It's Skade.'

Galbatorix coughed again. 'Why?'

Skade didn't understand. 'Just breathe,' she said.

He lay still for a time, his eyes unfocused and his chest heaving. Life of a sort seemed to return to him, and his body became a little less limp.

'Why did you do it?' Skade asked him, tentatively touching his chest.

Galbatorix opened his eyes again. There was a terrible emptiness in them. 'Because I wanted to die,' he said. 'I wanted to be with Laela. I've got nothing left to live for.'

There was. Skade yearned to tell him that there was. But she could not think of a way to tell him so.

'Why did you save me?' he asked piteously. 'Why?'

'Because…' Skade hesitated. 'Because I don't want you to die.'

Galbatorix smiled faintly. 'That's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever… ever said to me.'

Skade managed to get him to stand up, and half-carried him back to the cave, holding White Violence in her free hand. The Shades were already there, talking quietly by the fire, and she laid Galbatorix down to rest on his crude bed, covering him with a blanket and putting White Violence beside him. 'Keep still,' she told him. 'I'll get you some water.'

She picked up a mug and crossed the cave to where a large earthenware jar full of water had been placed. Rangda and Durza watched her pass.

'What have you been doing?' Rangda asked in her flat, emotionless voice.

'I went into the woods,' Skade said briefly.

Durza looked at Galbatorix. 'What happened to him?'

Skade paused. 'He tried to kill himself,' she said in a low voice.

'But you stopped him.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes,' said Skade. She turned her attention back toward Galbatorix, going to his side and giving him the water. He drank and did not protest when she commanded him to rest. She watched him until he fell asleep and then curled up beside him, her golden eyes still fixed on his face.

When Skade woke up the next morning, she found herself alone in the cave. Galbatorix was gone.

She sat up quickly, her heart pounding. The spot where he had lain was empty, but someone – almost certainly him – had placed a blanket over her. She shrugged it off and ran outside, full of a horrible certainty. It was too late. He'd killed himself while she was asleep, she knew it –

She halted in the cave entrance, taken aback.

There he was, large as life, sitting cross-legged on the grass just outside the cave, his hands occupied with something. Skade went straight to him. 'Galbatorix! There you are!'

Galbatorix glanced up. 'Good morning, Skade,' he said, and although there was a livid purple mark around his neck, his voice was perfectly calm.

Skade stood and watched him. There was a large piece of leather lying on the ground in front of him, with strange shapes drawn on it in charcoal. He was holding a sharp knife and carefully cutting around one of the outlines.

'What are you doing?' said Skade.

'I'm making myself a new pair of boots,' said Galbatorix. 'This pair has practically had it. I went into the village last night and stole the tools and the leather.' He glanced up at her and blithely added, 'Would you like me to make you a pair? I haven't got all the tools I'd like, but I think I can remember how to make ladies' sizes.'

Skade sat down beside him, feeling thoroughly bewildered. 'You're making _boots?'_

Galbatorix put down the knife. 'Well, why not? I need a pair. And it's something to do.'

Skade just stared at him.

Galbatorix's expression became more serious. 'Look, I'm sorry about what happened last night, Skade. I didn't know you'd find me like that.'

'You're lucky I did,' said Skade. 'You'd be dead now if I hadn't.'

'Yes… I suppose I would be. Thankyou, Skade. I… thankyou. A hundred times.'

Skade shook her head. 'How could you do that to yourself?'

A slightly pained look passed across his face. 'Gods, Laela said that to me once. I think you know why, Skade.'

'Promise me you won't do it again,' said Skade.

Galbatorix fixed her with a direct stare. 'Why?'

'Because I'm asking you to,' said Skade. 'You're my friend, Galbatorix. You'll find something to live for.'

'All right, then,' he said softly. 'For you. I promise I'll won't try it again.'

'Good,' said Skade.

She sat in silence and watched him work, marvelling at the deftness and surety in his hands. He cut and trimmed the leather with the efficiency of someone who had been doing it for years, then picked up a large needle and a spool of thick waxed thread. Skade watched over the next hour or so while the first boot slowly took shape, and then the second. Galbatorix fashioned some laces out of leather strips, saying; 'It'll be a nuisance not having any metal eyelets or aglets for these things, but I'll have to manage. Are you sure you don't want a pair?'

Skade shook her head, her eyes following the motions of his hands. After a while she went and got some food for them both, which they ate together in companionable silence. Afterwards Galbatorix went back to work. And, as he stitched the soles onto the nearly-completed pair of boots, he began to talk about his life. Not about his time as a rider, but about his boyhood in Teirm, when he had worked at the leather stall.

'…and they used to say I could sell a glass dagger to a swordsmith if I wanted to. Arren Silvertongue, that was my name. I was very proud of it. Of course, I've collected a few other names since then. You know, when I was governor of Teirm I made myself a pair of boots. Used my office as a workspace. They thought that was rather odd of me, but I enjoyed it. Reminded me I was human.'

Skade laughed. 'You're very strange, Galbatorix.'

He looked seriously at her. 'Do you really think so?'

Skade hesitated. 'Yes. I do.'

'Well, it's true enough,' said Galbatorix. 'Even before… what happened… I've never really fitted in anywhere. I was just born different.'

'You don't look different,' said Skade. 'You look like… well, a human.'

'I'm not,' said Galbatorix. 'Not completely, anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

Galbatorix paused and put down the nearly-completed boots. And before he knew what was going on, he was telling her everything. His birth, his parents, the legacy he had unwittingly inherited from both, and how it had all worked together to bring about his downfall. He told the tale with more bitterness than he had expected, and with anger as well, speaking of Vrael with a level of hatred toward the old elf that he had not felt before. The only part he left out was his time with the dark elves. For some reason he had the feeling that talking about it would be violating some secret that his lost people had entrusted to him.

Skade listened seriously.

'…and after we escaped we were safe in hiding for a while. But they found us in the end. Came after us. And Laela was killed…' he closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

Skade touched him lightly on the shoulder, and Galbatorix took hold of her hand, drawing strength from the warmth of her skin against his.

'And… and… and after that I can't remember much of what happened at all. Not for months.'

'Why?' Skade asked.

'Because I was insane,' Galbatorix said baldly. 'I can see that now. I lost my mind. Forgot who I was, forgot where I'd come from, forgot how to be human. I can't remember how I survived, and I'm glad. I must have been an awful sight.' His expression twisted with dark amusement. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii, the wandering lunatic. Charming. I ate my own gloves, you know. I got back to Teirm somehow or other, and that was where they caught me.' All trace of humour left his voice. 'They took me back to Ilirea in chains. And when I saw Vrael again… saw his face, heard his voice… it all came back. I remembered who I was and what had happened to me. But it didn't do me any good. Vrael… he condemned me to die the traitor's death. Him and the other elders. And when I accused them, they said I was insane. The guards dragged me away to the dungeons and whipped me and then threw me in a cell. And I would be dead now if Brom and Morzan hadn't rescued me. They got me out of that place and let me go free, but the marks on my back turned bad and I got sick, and… well, Durza found me and then you came.'

'It must have been so terrible for you,' Skade said softly.

Galbatorix sighed; a long, weary sigh. 'I died,' he said. 'Out there somewhere in the snow… I died. What you see here is all that's left of me, and I don't know who I am now or what I've become. I'm not a rider now, not a human, not an elf… I'm not anything any more. I'm just… lost.' He stopped. 'I suppose that doesn't make any sense.'

'I understand,' said Skade. 'I know what you mean, Galbatorix. Because the riders destroyed me too.'

They looked into each other's eyes then, and a strange stillness came between them.

'Skade,' said Galbatorix. 'I have to… there's something I have to tell you.'

'What is it?' said Skade.

Galbatorix stared at the ground. 'I don't… I can't… it's not… I don't know if I should say this, Skade, but I can't help it. I tried to hide it, but I couldn't. And I can't pretend it isn't there any more.'

'Galbatorix, I don't understand,' said Skade, beginning to be a little frightened. 'What are you talking about?'

Galbatorix took her hand in his. 'I… I love you, Skade. I know I shouldn't, I know it's wrong, but I do, and I can't help it. I love you. You're so precious to me, Skade. Before, I wanted to die. But now, looking at you, I know that I want to live again. I love you, Skade, and I always will.'

Skade was staring at him, bewildered. 'No,' she said, pulling her hand away. 'No, Galbatorix. You can't. It's not…'

But he had confessed what was on his mind now, and a sudden feeling of power and certainty came over him, such as he had not felt since the day Laela hatched. On a mad impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her.

Skade stood up sharply, shock written all over her wild, beautiful face. 'Galbatorix, you can't!' she cried. 'Stop it!'

Shame washed over him. 'Skade, I-,'

Skade did not wait to hear. She turned and ran away into the woods.

Galbatorix, left sitting by the cave, felt as if his insides had been torn out. He couldn't believe what he had just done. Self-loathing burned in his chest, and with a sudden motion he took hold of the barely-healed fingers of his right hand and twisted them, causing pain to shoot up his arm. It did nothing to lessen his guilt.

He had a sudden, wild urge to run down to the stream and throw himself into the water, or to slash his wrists with the leather-knife… but he had promised Skade that he wouldn't. But he hated himself more in that moment than he hated Vrael, or any of the people who had killed Laela and destroyed his life.

The rest of that day passed miserably. He finished the new pair of boots and put them on. They fitted quite well. And there was enough leather left over to make a pair of fingerless gloves to replace the pair he'd eaten. He didn't see Skade again. Evidently she was avoiding him.

_She's a _dragon, _you idiot!_ he raged at himself, again and again. But somehow he simply could not imagine her as a dragon. Whenever he tried to, all he saw was a vision of Laela. When he thought of Skade, he saw a silver elf with golden eyes; an elf he adored – could not _help_ but adore. In his head she was not a dragon. In his head she was a woman; a wild, cold, passionate, ferocious, beautiful woman. In his head she was Skade. And he knew that he felt for her a million times greater than he had ever felt for Flell.

But it could never be. He saw that now. He should have seen it all along. And the declaration he had made had only driven her away from him.

Toward nightfall, he left his spot by the cave entrance and went off into the woods, hoping to find Skade. But there was no sign of her anywhere. He wandered among the trees at sunset, deep in unhappy thought. There was only one thing he could do now. He had to find Skade and apologise to her for what he had done. The prospect scared him, but he knew it was the only way to set things straight.

He caught a pair of rabbits with the aid of his magic, and carried them back with him to the cave.

Skade was there, huddled alone by the fire. His heart fluttered at the sight of her, and he almost left, but she saw him standing in the entrance.

'Oh. Hello,' she said.

Galbatorix held up the rabbits. 'I got some dinner for us,' he said, his voice full of horribly artificial cheerfulness.

Skade said nothing, but she let him join her by the fire. He set about cleaning the rabbits, and spitted them over the fire to cook, unable to make himself speak.

At length Skade said; 'I miss my fire. I was just thinking of it now, when you came in. I can't breathe fire any more now. This body feels so _weak.'_

Galbatorix screwed up his courage. 'Skade,' he said.

She looked sharply at him. 'Yes?'

'Skade, I'm…' Galbatorix twisted his hands together, unable to look her in the eye. 'I'm sorry for what I said this morning. I shouldn't have. It was wrong. I just… please forgive me, Skade. I couldn't bear it if you were angry with me.'

He gave her an imploring look.

Skade looked back, oddly thoughtful. 'It was strange,' she said. 'You scared me a little, but…'

'But what, Skade?'

She fixed him with a penetrating stare. 'Did you mean what you said? Did you really mean it?'

Galbatorix hesitated.

'Answer me,' Skade commanded.

'I… yes,' said Galbatorix, shame-faced. 'I did mean it, Skade. I wouldn't lie to you, not ever.'

Skade said nothing. Galbatorix looked up at her, his heart pounding, dreading what she might be about to say.

Skade was looking at him. She did not look angry, but there was a strange look in her golden eyes… a dark, burning, almost predatory look.

'I'm sorry,' Galbatorix said again.

And then, without warning, Skade threw herself at him, hitting him square in the chest and bowling him over. He landed flat on his back, and before he knew what was going on she had pinned him down. She bore down on him, and for an instant he thought she was going to tear his throat out with her teeth, but instead…

Skade kissed him. Clumsily at first, then again and again, more and more confidently, her mouth pressed against his, her claws kneading at him and giving him exquisite pain. He overcame his initial shock and kissed her back. Her lips tasted like sweet blood, and fire burnt in her eyes, and it awoke a wild, maddened passion inside him.

The pair of them rolled over, their bodies entangled, making no sound save for their rapid breathing.

So it was that Galbatorix and Skade first came together, two outcasts with nothing left, who found love in each other. It was a coupling that would change the world.


	25. The Great Betrayer

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Great Betrayer

By the time Rangda and Durza returned to the cave, Galbatorix and Skade were sitting by the fire together and talking animatedly. Galbatorix looked up warily when the two Shades took their accustomed place on the other side of the fire, but said nothing.

'You seem better, half-breed,' said Durza.

'I'll live,' Galbatorix answered briefly.

Durza nodded. 'You are strong. Stronger than you look. When I first brought you here you were raving with fever. I did not think you would survive.'

Galbatorix paused. 'Thankyou for what you did, Durza. Forgive me, but I've never met a Shade before and I was always told that Shades didn't care for anything but themselves. Can I ask why you saved me?'

Durza watched him silently for a time, his blood-coloured eyes unblinking. At length he said; 'I had heard of you before I found you. When I saw you, I knew who you were. You have a unique mind, unique powers. You are not like other riders. You have a power no human or elf possesses. And I… I respect that. I saved you in order to preserve that power. If you would share your knowledge with me, it would be all the repayment I would ask for.'

Galbatorix listened suspiciously. 'So you're after my knowledge.'

'There is no shame in that,' said Durza. 'Knowledge is power, and power is what I value.'

'He speaks truth,' Rangda put in. 'I too want to learn. I brought Skade here and kept her safe because I want to find her father just as she does, in order to learn from him.'

'Knowledge is one of the greatest powers that exist,' Durza agreed. 'We seek it wherever we go and find it no matter what the cost. Knowledge entrusted to a Shade is never lost. We do not age. We do not forget.'

'I may be able to help you,' Galbatorix said carefully. 'But I can see what you're saying. You don't care about _me,_ you care about what I know.'

'To me, they are one and the same,' said Durza. 'But I am sympathetic to you as well. Like me you know what it is to be shunned and hated, persecuted wherever you go when your only crime is that of having come into being.' He glanced around at the others. 'All of us here know what that is like. We are outcasts. And if the riders had their way, all of us would be dead.'

'But they'll be punished,' Skade said unexpectedly, taking hold of Galbatorix's hand and squeezing it. 'You're going to get revenge on them for us.'

Galbatorix shifted nervously. 'Well…'

'You _said_ you were going to,' Skade said, almost accusingly. 'You said you wanted revenge, didn't you?'

'I did say that, yes. And… I hate the riders. More than I've ever hated anyone before in my life. But I'm not sure how I could fight back against them.'

'Easily,' said Durza. 'If you had heard what I have heard, if you knew what people were saying, you would not be doubtful. The time is right for you.'

'What do you mean?' said Galbatorix.

'Your name has spread,' said Durza. 'And your deeds. You have a new name now, one people of all races speak with fear. You are Galbatorix Taranisäii, the Great Betrayer. The only one the riders fear.'

Galbatorix was bewildered. 'The riders – _fear?'_

'Yes. They fear you, Galbatorix. They fear you as they fear no other enemy they have ever created for themselves. You are the only rider ever to betray his fellows. You know their secrets, their inner workings, you are trained in their magic and you carry one of their swords. You alone have defied them and lived to tell the tale. You have escaped from under their very noses, not once but twice. And you have already killed two other riders, on your own, when you were wounded and without your dragon. They fear you. It is said that you know dark secrets and that you cannot be killed, that you can make yourself become a shadow no barrier can protect against. In Teirm, the people you once governed are rallying together. They speak of all you did for them and have begun attacking city guards and spreading word of how the riders tried to execute you for freeing the slaves and how you will return to seek your revenge. You have become something the riders cannot fight – you have become a symbol, an idea, an inspiration. And they fear you.'

Galbatorix was thunderstruck. '_Me?_ But I'm just-,'

'You are the Great Betrayer,' said Durza. 'And your time is now. Regain your strength, gather your followers to you, and you may have your revenge, and it will be a revenge that Alagaësia will never forget. You will punish the riders for what they have done to you, and to so many others. And I will help you, if you will allow me to. I would be proud to fight by your side.'

Still Galbatorix hesitated. _The Great Betrayer. _Things had changed during his illness, and far more dramatically than he had ever suspected. But he saw what it meant clearly enough once his astonishment had faded. He was not alone, and nor was he forgotten. Riots in Teirm, the riders powerless to stop his fame from spreading. _They fear you._ And, at long last, he knew what he must do.

His resolve hardened. 'I'll do it,' he said. 'For Laela. For the dark elves.' He glanced at Skade. 'For you, Skade. And for you, Durza, and you, Rangda. For everyone the riders destroyed or tried to destroy. I will be the Great Betrayer. And the riders will have a war on their hands that they will never forget. I swear it.' He repeated, 'I swear it,' in the ancient language, and his new-found certainty, tempered with rage, brought a sense of power to him that reminded him of what he had felt with Skade. It was in that moment that Galbatorix Taranisäii was reborn, and he knew what he had been reborn as. He was no longer Arren Cardockson, newly-trained rider, and no longer Galbatorix Traeganni, King of the dark elves. He was the shadow that came in the night. He was the one whom the world had tried to destroy but failed to crush. He was the Great Betrayer. And he would rise again from the grave which the riders had thrown him into, and he would make them feel the pain they had inflicted on him a hundred times over.

After that there was no more uncertainty, no more despair, no more hesitation. He shrugged off his weakness and began to train with his sword, working tirelessly, hour after hour, building up the strength in his arms. He would go running through the forest and swimming in the stream, his wasted muscles slowly but surely becoming stronger, his bones and joints growing reaccustomed to physical activity. It wasn't easy. He returned to the cave exhausted every night, and woke up every morning with aches and pains. But he welcomed it. It was a vital feeling, one which reminded him he was alive. He no longer wanted to die, and the main reason for it was Skade.

Since the night when they had first come together, they had lost their uncertainty and shed their fears and reservations. They forgot the taboo that lay between them and pursued their relationship with a passion that put a fire into them both. Their new-found love gave both man and elf a new lease on life, and a new certainty as well. Both had suffered a loss that had destroyed their stability and thrown them into despair, but in each other they found something that gave them back their spirit.

The glittering brightness that Laela's death had extinguished returned to Galbatorix's eyes, and confidence came back into his stride. His voice lost its edge of quiet desperation, his sleep was more peaceful, his stare less listless. He began to fuss over his hair again; washing it in the stream every day and then combing it as well as he could with his fingers, even finding time to lament the fact that he didn't have a comb. When that wasn't enough to satisfy him, he made another nighttime raid on the village and came back with a pair of brushes and a bottle of herbal hair lotion stolen from a bedroom. He trimmed his hair as well as he could using a dagger, then washed and brushed it until it regained its shine. He left his beard as it was, since it would help to keep him from being recognised, but muttered irritably about how it made him feel untidy.

Skade watched all this with a mixture of incredulity and undisguised amusement. 'You're grooming as if you're about to meet a Queen,' she said, and laughed a harsh dragon laugh.

Galbatorix paused in the act of dragging a brush through his hair. 'I've always been very particular about my hair,' he said with wounded dignity. 'And I might be a fugitive now, but that's no reason to let my appearance go.'

Skade snickered, reminding him of Laela. 'People out there are probably wondering where the Great Betrayer is right now. If they knew he was busy brushing his hair…'

'…Then they'd say; "good, we don't want a leader who looks like a tramp",' Galbatorix answered promptly. He fingered his beard. 'I wish I could get rid of this. It looks terrible on me.'

'I like it,' said Skade.

Galbatorix grinned at her. 'I'd be less scratchy on you if I shaved it off. _Not_ that being a bit rough around the face could be that terrible compared with what you've been doing to me.'

'I'm sorry,' said Skade. 'I keep forgetting your skin is so thin.'

Galbatorix dabbed at the scratches on his arms. 'Ah, I've got plenty of scars already. A few more won't kill me.' He checked his reflection in the stream. '…tell you what, how about I take off the mustache and the bit just under my mouth and just leave a bit of hair on my chin? I could style it a bit, make it pointy. That's how dark elves wear beards, and I'm technically one of them… what d'you think?'

'Try it,' said Skade.

He soaped the dagger-blade with some leftover hair lotion, and set to work. The blade was blunt, but he sharpened it with a few muttered words and worked on. He removed the coarse hairs from around his mouth and on his cheeks, leaving a patch on his chin. Once he was done, he trimmed and styled the remnant as well as he could, leaving himself with a small, pointed dark elvish beard.

'There!' he said when he was done, and rinsed his face off in the stream. He ran his fingers over the smooth skin on his face, feeling much cleaner now. 'How do I look?' he asked Skade.

She regarded him thoughtfully, and then smiled – something she was able to do much more naturally now. 'I like it.'

Galbatorix examined his reflection. He looked younger now, and much neater. But at the same time, the little beard on his chin made him look older. Not worn or decrepit, but more mature. He liked it. 'There you go,' he said triumphantly to Skade. 'Now you can see what I look like under all that hair.'

Skade grinned and pounced on him again, kissing him in that ferocious, nearly violent way she had. He dropped the dagger and kissed her back, and they embraced fiercely, suddenly overcome with passion yet again. Forgetting all else, wonderfully isolated in their little place by the stream, they lost themselves in that hot, half-savage energy, their hands in each other's hair, their bodies entwined, their life-forces becoming one for a few raw, heart-pounding moments.

Later, they lay side-by-side on the grass, utterly content.

'Skade?'

'Hmm?'

'Do you love me?'

She laughed and thumped him in the stomach, accidently winding him. 'Of course I do, you idiot. You're my mate. I chose you.'

_I chose you… _Galbatorix shivered slightly. 'No-one will ever accept it, you know,' he said, nursing his bruised stomach. 'They'll call it a-,' he grinned. 'I grew up to be just like my father. Fell in love with someone I was forbidden to love. But they won't cut my head off for it, or yours either. We're free, and we don't answer to anybody but ourselves.'

'No-one should ever be ashamed of themselves,' Skade said softly. 'Not their parents, not their birth, and _never_ the one they love. I will never be ashamed of you, Galbatorix. Never.'

'And you know I'll never be ashamed of you either, don't you, Skade?'

'I know,' said Skade. 'Because I trust you, Galbatorix.'

They returned to the cave that evening to find Rangda and Durza waiting.

Rangda stood up when they entered. 'Skade,' the female Shade said. 'It's time. Durza and I are ready.'

Skade, who was holding Galbatorix's hand, glanced at him.

Durza too had stood up. 'It is time for the curse to be lifted,' he said.

Skade hesitated, still looking at Galbatorix.

Galbatorix couldn't stop himself. 'Please, Skade,' he said. 'Don't do it.'

She looked sorrowfully at him. 'I have to, Galbatorix. Please understand. I can't stay an elf forever.'

Galbatorix's heart clenched. He wanted to plead with her, to beg her not to do it, to stay an elf for him. But he knew that he could not. This was her decision, and he had no right to interfere. So he let go of her. 'All right,' he said softly. 'Go to them.'

Skade paused, looking into his eyes. Then she embraced him and kissed him again. 'My sweet one,' she murmured. 'My Galbatorix.'

Then she let go of him. He stood helplessly and watched her walk toward the two Shades, standing in the middle of the floor. 'I'm ready,' she told them in a firm voice.

Rangda and Durza glanced at each other, then nodded. They held the hands out toward her and spoke a string of words in the ancient language.

Galbatorix saw their magic envelop Skade. The silver elf shuddered and then went rigid, her body haloed in swirling red and silver light. Seconds passed, and then her outline began to warp and shift and change. It was the same changing he had seen Faegareth use, but much slower and without the easy grace of the shapeshifter. This was a forced change.

Skade began to grow. She dropped forward onto all fours, crying out as her body lengthened and broadened, the bones cracking and stretching. Her silver gown ripped as the wings unfurled, her delicate fingers became huge curved talons, her face bulged forward into a dragon's snout and horns sprouted from the back of her head. Her tail regrew, so fast it nearly knocked Galbatorix over. He scrambled out of the way, pressing himself against the cave wall and watching in amazement.

And then, at last, the light died down and Skade slumped forward, making the floor shake when she hit it.

Galbatorix ran to her. He crouched by her head, calling her name. Without thinking, he made mental contact with her. For one painful, bewildering second, as he touched minds with her, he thought he was back in the snow with Laela, begging her not to die. But the moment passed, and he saw that it was indeed Skade lying there, no longer an elf.

Skade's eyes opened and she looked up at him, and the expression in her eyes sent a horrible, icy _thump_ into his stomach.

Without thinking, Galbatorix touched her head and said; 'Please don't die, Laela.'

Skade blinked, then got up. She towered over him, and he stood looking up at her in amazement.

She was as big as Laela had been, but rougher, heavier, longer in the body and shorter in the legs. Her scales were bright silver, shining like polished metal, and her wings were the colour of moonlight. Just like Laela's. She had six horns rather than four. A royal dragon. But he knew she was still the Skade he knew. There was a black mark on the side of her neck, shaped like a scar, and her eyes were just the same, focused on him with love.

Her mental voice sounded in his head. _'You look so small!'_

Galbatorix reached toward her, and she lowered her head toward him, letting him touch her snout. Her scales were warm and smooth, and reminded him of the elvish skin she had had before. _'Are you all right?'_ he asked.

Skade bared her teeth in a grin. _'I feel so strong now… how do I look?'_

He looked her up and down. _'Like a dragon. A beautiful silver dragon.'_

Skade grinned at him again, then turned and walked sinuously out of the cave. Galbatorix walked beside her, and when she was in the open air, she spread her wings wide and roared.

The roar echoed over the mountains, and Galbatorix thrilled to hear it. It put a fire in his blood, and a ferocity as well. It made him want to rush into battle against a hundred enemies all alone. It made him want to breathe fire and smoke and crush the towers of Ilirea under his boots.

Skade stopped roaring, and without warning she launched herself into the air. The rush of wind nearly knocked Galbatorix off his feet, but he managed to stay upright and watched her fly up and over the mountains. He let out a wild whoop of excitement, and waved to her as she soared back into the sky that had been stolen from her. Skade roared back, and began to loop and dive and wheel, twisting and turning in a fantastic aerial dance. He longed to be up there with her.

When she came down to land again, he ran to her and put his arms around her neck, hugging her tightly. She nuzzled his back, growling deep in her throat. _'I'm free!'_ she said mentally. _'I'm free, Galbatorix, I'm free, oh I'm free! The curse is gone! I can fly again!'_

She lifted her head to the sky, and breathed a massive plume of bright silver fire, so hot it singed Galbatorix's hair. But he felt no fear at all. He could feel her wild excitement and joy, and it got into him too. He let go of Skade and darted around her, laughing and teasing her, and she chased him through the trees, snapping playfully. They returned to the cave breathless and laughing, and Galbatorix said; 'Stay with me, Skade. Help me to fight. I can't fight a rider in the air without a dragon. Help me.'

Skade's grin faded. 'I can't,' she said aloud. 'Not now.'

Galbatorix's joy left him. 'Why not?' he asked.

Skade lowered her head and touched him in the chest with her snout. _'I must find my father,' _she said gently. _'I have been looking for him my whole life, and now I am so close I cannot give up. But I will do what I can to help you. I can take you wherever you wish to go before I leave, and I swear that I will return. As soon as I have found my father, I will come back to you.'_

'_Do you promise?'_ Galbatorix asked quietly.

'_I swear it,'_ said Skade, raising her head and looking down on him with power and majesty in her stance. _'There will be no other mate for me but you, Galbatorix. Just you. I swear here and now, with this cave and this forest as my witness. I will love you always, and one day I shall return to you.'_

Galbatorix placed his hand on his chest. _'And I swear,'_ he said. _'You will be the only one for me, Skade. I will never love another. And I will wait for you for as long as it takes. If I have to wait for the rest of my life, then I will.'_

Skade's eyes were fixed on him, full of love. _'Then let us go,'_ she said. _'I will take you wherever you wish to go, and then I will return here for Rangda and she and I will go over the sea to where my father is.'_

That took him by surprise. But, when he looked into Skade's eyes and felt her confidence through their temporary mental link, a powerful feeling of confidence and resolution came over him. The time for waiting was over. His time was now. _'Wait a little while,'_ he said. _'I have to speak with Durza.'_

Skade nodded and settled down to wait, and Galbatorix turned to the Shade, who had come to the cave entrance to watch, his red eyes incurious. He watched Galbatorix's approach like a wild cat, strong and wary.

Galbatorix did not fully trust the Shade, but he did not fear him either. 'Durza,' he said, his voice suddenly deep and commanding and certain in a way it had never been before. He fixed Durza with a calm stare. It was a leader's look: powerful and confident and direct. 'It's time,' he said. 'Skade is going to take me to Ilirea. I will begin this on my own. I won't stay in any one place for long. I'm going to move around for a while, until I've found my footing. I'll spread the word, gather followers, and see to a few things. I'll be less conspicuous if I travel alone, but I may have need of you. Is there a way to contact you from a distance?'

Durza nodded. 'Scry me,' he said. 'If you do so, I will be able to sense it and I will speak to you through the window. What would you have me do, half-breed?'

'You can't come with me. It'll be far too conspicuous. I want you to find someone for me. A year or so ago, near Dras-Leona, I fought a female Ra'zac. She was carrying eggs. I spared her life, and she swore that if she could ever repay me, all I had to do was ask. Find that Ra'zac and tell her I need her help. Can you do that for me?'

Durza nodded. 'I can, and I will. Contact me often, and I will tell you when I have succeeded.'

'Stay hidden,' Galbatorix ordered. 'Don't try and fight anyone, unless you have to. The riders can't know what's happening until the time is right. When we're ready, when we've gathered enough strength, _then_ will be the time. I will give the signal. Until then, we run, we hide, we stay out of trouble. Understood?'

'I understand,' said Durza.

'One more thing,' said Galbatorix. 'Before we part, you'll take an oath of loyalty to me. In the ancient language. Swear that you will do as I command.'

Durza betrayed no emotion. 'Don't you trust me?'

'To be honest, no. If life has taught me anything, it's to trust no-one. Now take the oath.'

Durza was silent for some time. He was obviously thinking it over, but his face remained as calm as always. Galbatorix watched him, unflinching.

Finally, Durza nodded. 'I will take the oath,' he said.

The Shade knelt, and began to speak in the ancient language. 'I swear to serve you. I shall do your bidding at any cost, for as long as I live.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Good. And see you keep your word, Shade. You know what will happen if you don't.'

'I know,' Durza said flatly, rising to his feet once more.

Galbatorix held out a hand. The Shade looked at it as if he had no idea what it was. 'Take it,' Galbatorix said.

Durza did so, and Galbatorix shook his hand. 'We're allies now,' he said. 'And you can trust me to help you as much as you help me.'

Durza betrayed a hint of surprise at this. Apparently, being spoken to respectfully wasn't something he was used to. Galbatorix nodded formally and entered the cave. There he strapped White Violence to his back and bundled up the blankets he had slept on, tying them into a neat roll around his few remaining possessions. He filled his pockets with whatever food was left – Shades did not eat, so Rangda and Durza would have no use for it – put on the new gloves he had made for himself, and returned. Skade was ready for him, and he climbed somewhat awkwardly onto her back, seating himself between her shoulders. Once he had anchored himself in place by holding onto her neck, the silver dragon took off.

And for the first time since Laela's death, he found himself flying on a dragon's back.

He hadn't realised how much he'd missed it. Skade was every bit as graceful in the air as Laela had been, and powerful as well. Her wings beat strongly, and she soared straight up to the clouds, up and up until everything went white, and then out again into a blaze of sunshine. They were flying above the clouds, and below there was nothing but whiteness and above there was nothing but blue. This was a world he had only ever visited with Laela, but now he had found a way into it again, with someone he loved just as much, and he whooped aloud for joy.

'_Hold on tight,'_ Skade advised, and without waiting for an answer the silver dragon shot away South, heading straight for Ilirea and the beginning of a new life.

The journey ended all too soon. Skade landed in the forest by Ilirea at night, hitting the ground with astonishing delicacy and making barely a sound save for the faint crunch of dead leaves. Galbatorix climbed down from her back, on the alert for danger the instant he touched ground.

It was safe, so he turned and touched Skade's snout, saying; _'You should go now, Skade, before someone comes.'_

Skade nuzzled his chest, nearly knocking him over. _'Oh, Galbatorix… be careful. Please be careful.'_

He embraced her. _'Don't worry about me,'_ he said. _'They can't hurt me any more. I'll be all right. And I'll wait for you. Please come back to me, Skade. Come back quickly.'_

'_I will,'_ she breathed. _'I swear I will. Goodbye, Galbatorix. We'll meet again.'_

The silver dragon touched him one last time, and then flew up and away with a quick flick of her wings, and was gone into the night sky in seconds. The last thing he saw was the moonlight glinting on her silver scales, and then she was gone, leaving him alone in the woods with a heavy heart, wondering if he would ever see her again.

But he did not remain there long. An eerie rustling of leaves nearby reminded him of where he was, and, slinging his possessions on his back, he melted away into the shadows and was gone. He knew what to do. He knew exactly what to do.

As he moved silently through the trees, he could see the walls of Ilirea rising over the forest up ahead, pale and ghostly in the gloom. His reaction to seeing it again surprised him. He felt no fear at all. Instead, a steady, controlled rage rose up inside him. He was looking at the symbol of the power that had destroyed him, and after all his pain and suffering it was still there, standing solidly and arrogantly in the midst of the forest, a monument to power and corruption. His back twinged sharply. _Take him away and whip him, the boy is insane…_

Galbatorix shuddered, but controlled himself and moved on. Silent as a shadow.

And then he saw light up ahead. Firelight. He tensed and paused, a hundred possibilities flooding into his mind. If it was a guard patrol… if he was caught…

He pulled himself together. There were no guard patrols. Not like this. Only other riders guarded the city, and they never did it from the ground. He moved on, determined to find out what it was. If he decided he didn't like the look of it, he could slip away before anyone knew he was there.

What he found was very different from what he'd expected. It was a small campsite, tucked away out of sight of Ilirea's walls. Sitting by a fire was an elf.

Galbatorix's eyes narrowed. He knew this elf. And beside her crouched an orange dragon hatchling.

Elf and dragon glanced at each other frequently, saying nothing aloud. Galbatorix knew who the dragon must be. _Kullervo. _And the elf. _Einás. _The old egg-guardian, looking a little the worse for wear. But here was the one who had betrayed Skade to the riders. And she was an elf.

Galbatorix reached a decision, and began to move closer. He slid through the darkness until he was on the opposite side of the clearing, within touching distance of Einás. There, still unseen, he put down the bundle of blankets. Then he straightened up and drew his sword. He took in a deep breath, and spoke from the shadows.

'_Betrayer…'_

Einás looked up sharply. 'Who's there?' she demanded, reaching for her own sword.

'_Betrayer,'_ Galbatorix whispered again, his voice carrying through the darkness, so soft it was nearly impossible to trace. _'Einás, you are a traitor.'_

Einás stood up, her sword at the ready. 'Show yourself!'

'As you wish,' Galbatorix replied, and, just as the dark elves had once done, he slipped out of the shadows and into the light, appearing as if out of nowhere, White Violence ready in his hand.

Einás let out a cry of fear. Kullervo sprang to her side, snarling.

Galbatorix grinned horribly. 'Einás Egg-Guardian,' he intoned. 'Do you know who I am?'

Fear was in Einás' eyes. 'The Great Betrayer…'

Galbatorix laughed. 'You would know all about that, wouldn't you, Einás? You're wanted for high treason, you know, just the same as me. But I couldn't care less that you betrayed your Queen, or the riders either. You betrayed someone else. Someone who trusted you. Someone who thought you were her friend.'

Einás' eyes widened. 'Skade…'

'Yes, Skade,' said Galbatorix. He was inching forward as he spoke, almost imperceptibly, slowly moving into position to attack. 'Remember her, Einás?'

'Where is she?' said Einás. 'What have you done to her?'

'Me?' said Galbatorix. 'Nothing. But I've seen her. Or what was left of her after what the riders did to her. You betrayed her, Einás. You let the riders take her, and they destroyed her. She's safe now. But you aren't.'

Einás saw her danger. She raised her sword in readiness to defend herself. 'Please,' she said. 'You don't understand. Let me explain-,'

It was the wrong thing to say. '_Explain?_' Galbatorix bellowed. 'Explain? Did anyone ever give _me_ the chance to explain? And did any of you ever listen to a word of it? Well? Did you?' All his sorrow and rage volcanoed inside him, and he rushed at the old elf, snarling and vicious. His attack was so sudden that it caught Einás unaware, but in spite of her great age she still had elvish reflexes and strength. A human would have been killed in seconds, but Einás was just fast enough to raise her sword in time, and she and Galbatorix began to fight. It was fast and brutal. No words, no mercy, no cease – nothing but a quick, inelegant scuffle that was over almost as soon as it had begun. Galbatorix drove forward recklessly, his sword flicking back and forth with lightning speed, and in less than two minutes it was over and Einás was down. She landed heavily on her back, her sword flying out of her hand, and Galbatorix stood over her, drawing White Violence back to deliver the fatal blow. But before it had landed, something hit him hard in the side of the face. It was Kullervo. The little dragon's claws tore down the side of Galbatorix's face, inflicting a dozen deep gashes in seconds. Galbatorix yelped and struck him, flinging him across the clearing. Kullervo landed heavily, but his intervention had been enough to give Einás time. The elf scrambled to her feet and ran.

She was too slow. Galbatorix caught up with her in three long strides, and ruthlessly cut her down from behind. Einás thumped onto her stomach, and before she could rise White Violence came down, snuffing out her life.

Kullervo screamed.

Galbatorix turned and saw the orange dragon writhing on the ground, screaming as the pain of Einás' death cut through him. He swore and ran to him. In his rage he hadn't stopped to consider that this would happen, but now he saw it he reacted quickly. He forced his way into Kullervo's mind, and poured his own life-energy into the dragon, encircling the dragon's consciousness with his own and protecting him against the worst of his suffering. In doing so, he felt Kullervo's pain rebound into his own mind. The hole where Laela had been spewed forth fresh agony, and he went cold all over. But he fought to remain conscious and to keep his mind stable, and when it was over and Kullervo became still he carefully withdrew.

Kullervo lay on his side, not moving but for the heaving of his flanks. Galbatorix reached toward him. 'It's all right,' he murmured. 'It's all right, Kullervo, I'm here, you're safe. I came to help you.'

Kullervo's eyes opened, and he looked up dully at Galbatorix's face.

'It's all right, Kullervo,' Galbatorix said again. 'I'm sorry for that, but it was the only way. I had to set you free. Listen to me. I know where Skade is. She's safe. I've talked to her, and she told me where to find you. I need your help, Kullervo. The riders cursed Skade; they tortured her, tried to kill her. They did the same to me. Einás was helping them. She betrayed Skade. But you're free of her now, Kullervo. I set you free. And now I'm going to get revenge on the riders for what they did to Skade, and to me. Help me, Kullervo. Choose me as your rider. Bond yourself to me, and I can take you to Skade, and she can take you to your father. And we can fight the riders together. Your pain was their fault. You can make them pay, Kullervo. Just let me help you.'

Kullervo made no reply. Galbatorix watched him closely, hoping his words would have the right effect. He gently lifted Kullervo to his claws. 'It's all right,' he said again. 'I won't hurt you, Kullervo. I'm your friend.'

_Then_ Kullervo moved. His head shot around like a striking snake, and he sank his teeth into Galbatorix's hand. Galbatorix cried out and let go of him, and Kullervo ran away into the forest. Galbatorix ran after him, but the orange dragon took off as soon as he had reached open space, and flew away into the night sky, vanishing in moments.

Galbatorix vanished into a shadow. Only then did he curse softly. The cuts on his face stung, blood slowly running down into his beard. He healed them with a quick spell, but left the bite-mark on his hand as it was.

Once he was sure that no-one had heard the noise, he crept back to Einás' camp and padded silently over to where the old elf's body lay. He wiped White Violence's blade clean on his tattered robe, and put it back into its sheath. Then he turned Einás over, almost gently. She was dead, her face pale and serene. He arranged the body carefully, neatly folding the arms over the chest and smoothing down the bloodied gown. He found Einás' sword and placed it on her body, the hilt under her hands. Then he walked slowly around it, drawing shapes and symbols in the earth around the body and murmuring ritual words under his breath. Once this was done, he spread his hand over Einás' cold face and intoned; 'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, and by a breeze in the night blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers.' As he spoke the final words, he cast the spell. Black flames enveloped Einás' body, hiding it from view, burning silently, hot but smokeless. Galbatorix stood and watched it expressionlessly, watching the visions swim through the flames. Visions of a long life that was now ended. He even caught a brief glimpse of the face of someone who had to be Eragon himself; a haughty-looking elf with shaggy blonde hair and brown eyes that reminded him of Lanethial. The memories disappeared and the flames died down, leaving behind nothing but ashes which blew away in the wind.

Galbatorix sighed. It was done. He watched the swirling black flakes for a few moments, and then he too was gone.


	26. The Ghost of Teirm

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Ghost of Teirm

The air was cold. Morzan shivered and pulled his cloak more tightly over his shoulders, watching the sun rise and turn the sky a delicate shade of pink and icy blue. He hated guard duty. But, not for the first time, Oromis had sent him to spend the night on the wall. It was considered a form of punishment to take the night watch, and although Oromis called it 'discipline' and claimed it was intended to hone the young riders' skills of observation, Morzan knew well enough what it really meant. Ever since Galbatorix's disappearance, a rift had begun to form between human and elvish riders. The elves blamed what had happened on their human counterparts, and some were even saying that humans should not have been allowed to become riders in the first place. They were too stupid, too weak, too corruptible. And Morzan, along with Brom and all the human apprentices, had had to bear the consequences of it.

Morzan glanced along the wall to where Brom stood with Saphira by his side. He too had been put on night duty, though he seemed to resent it less than Morzan did. These days he was always claiming that elves were, indeed, better than humans, and was quite proud of his newly-pointed ears. Morzan, however, suspected that much of Brom's talk was a result of his lingering feelings of guilt. The two of them hadn't so much as mentioned what they had done that night, but neither of them had forgotten it, and they lived in constant fear that the elders would find out. The quick-thinking Brom had gone back to the dungeons and forced the guards to take ancient language oaths that they would not breathe a word of what they knew, and since no-one else had seen them they were, in theory, safe.

But ever since then, Vrael had become more and more paranoid and suspicious toward all humans in the city. On three occasions he had personally questioned Brom and Morzan, both individually and together. They had managed to evade suspicion by dodging his questions or by telling half-truths, and in the end had only been rescued by Oromis' direct intervention. The elf had managed to make Vrael leave them be, coldly reminding him that they were his students and above suspicion. They had, after all, taken oaths of loyalty.

Morzan edged his way over to Brom. The other rider was dozing on his feet, but woke up with a start when Morzan nudged him in the ribs.

'What? What's going on? I'm awake, I'm- oh, it's you.'

Morzan grinned. 'Wakey wakey. Having a good dream, were yeh?'

'Yes, it was about my old home,' Brom said honestly. 'I miss it. I want to go back and see my parents. Saphira would like to meet them, too.'

Morzan yawned. 'Huh. Parents? They ain't for the likes of us any more, eh? I bet my dad would thump me if I went around there tellin' him to call me Sir.'

'But don't you miss home?'

''course I do. I'm just sayin' it'd be weird, is all.'

Brom grinned. 'Your accent gets even worse when you're tired. You'd better hope Oromis doesn't hear you speaking like that, or you'll be on night watch until the next Blood-Oath celebration.'

'It's not too bad,' said Morza. 'Idün an' me gets some time to ourselves then, at least. Seems there's precious little of that these days. Who would've thought being a rider could be so boring?'

Brom stared at him. _'Boring?'_ he repeated incredulously. 'You must be mad.'

'Night watch, sparrin' in the training yard every morning, listening to a load of blather about the meaning of life… seems pretty boring to _me,'_ said Morzan.

'That's it, he's mad,' said Brom, appealing to the sky. 'My best mate's lost his mind. Morzan, I'd give anything for a little boredom. How could you possibly call this boring?'

'Fraught is what I'd call it,' Morzan said darkly. 'I can't ever feel safe any more. Not since… the trouble.' He lowered his voice. 'I ain't sayin' nothin', Brom, I'm just sayin'… ever since it happened I ain't stopped lookin' over my shoulder. I keep expecting to see him there. It's like he's hiding in every shadow, just waiting to come out.'

There was real fear in the bulky boy's voice, and Brom patted his shoulder to comfort him, saying; 'Don't be silly, Morzan. He's gone. He wouldn't come back here.'

Morzan glanced around nervously. 'But… he ain't gone. Can't you feel it? It's like he's everywhere now. Even Vrael's scared of him. Why else d'you think we're all still here, and the other elders too? They don't want to go out there 'less he finds 'em. Or Vrael's keepin' them close to make him feel better. They're _scared._ And I am too. I keep thinkin'… rememberin' the look in his eyes. D'you remember it, Brom?'

Brom shivered. 'Yes. I remember.'

'I just don't know… where could he have gone?' said Morzan, unconsciously touching the hilt of his sword, Zar'roc. 'Is he still alive? It's weird, but… there's just this feeling inside me that tells me he's alive.'

Brom hesitated, then touched Morzan's mind with his own. _'We shouldn't have done it, Morzan,'_ he said mentally, not wanting to risk anyone hearing them. _'We shouldn't have let him go.'_

Morzan radiated a feeling of anger. _'What, are you saying we should've just let them kill him?'_

'_No, but…'_

'_They would've made us watch, Brom. You know that. We would've had to watch them tear his insides out. I don't care what he did. They couldn't do that to him. He was our friend, Brom.'_

'_But what about Flell?'_

'_I don't reckon he really did that,'_ said Morzan. _'You saw how they were together. That Flell's an airhead. She was always goin' on about how much she liked him and how she hoped he liked her too. Made me want to throw up. I reckon she was tellin' stories.'_

'_But why would she do that?'_ said Brom. _'If she loved him, why lie about it?'_

Morzan shrugged. _'I dunno. But I don't believe it. If she were here right now I'd shake the truth out of her.'_

'_It doesn't matter if it's true or not,'_ said Brom. _'Galbatorix is insane. We both know that.'_

'But he was right,' Morzan muttered out loud. 'He was right.'

Brom hadn't heard him properly. 'What?'

Morzan looked away. 'Nothin'.' He returned to his spot on the wall, where Idün was still crouched, half-dozing in the chilly air. Morzan was about to wake her up when the eerie silence of dawn was shattered by the sound of a horn. He looked around sharply. The horn sounded again.

Morzan's heart pounded. In all the time he'd spent doing sentry duty, he had never, ever seen this happen. If another sentry was blowing their horn… it could only mean that something had happened. Something bad.

Idün woke up sharply. Morzan scrambled into her saddle without pausing to say anything, and the red dragon flew straight toward the spot where the horn had sounded. It was at a spot on the wall not far away from where Brom was. The rider who had made the alarm was not on the wall, but was standing on the ground just outside it, her dragon by her side. Brom had also been alerted, and Idün and Saphira alighted moments apart. Their riders dismounted and ran to see what was going on.

The guard had her horn in one hand, and had drawn her sword with the other. She was staring silently at the wall in front of her.

Brom and Morzan went to her side, quickly joined by others.

They stared in shock.

There, marring the smooth white stone, was a huge triple-spiral shape, burned into the wall. It reached higher than Idün's head, each spiral as wide as her wings.

Morzan reached out hesitantly and touched the stone. It was warm to the touch. 'What in the gods' names…?'

'What happened, Tranah?' someone asked, addressing the guard who had found it.

Tranah shook her head. 'I don't know,' she said. 'It just… appeared. I thought I heard something and came down to have a look, and there it was.'

'There's more over there,' said Brom, pointing.

Sure enough there was a second one, marked into the stone a few metres along from the first one. And beyond that was another. Brom and Morzan and their fellow riders began to run along the length of the wall, some taking the opposite direction. They met on the other side of the city, all panting and shocked.

The entire outer wall of Ilirea had been vandalised. The triple-spiral had been marked into it dozens of times, some huge like the first one, some as small as a hand. And, right over the gates, there was a line of pictures.

Morzan examined them, bewildered. There was another triple spiral, a crude image of a robed man, a staring eye, and next to that was a stylized dragon with its wings spread – the emblem of the riders. And last came a sword, its blade pointed at a silver circle.

'What in the gods' names is this?' one rider demanded. He glanced around at the others, his shocked expression mirroring theirs. 'Did any of you see anything?' he demanded sharply. 'Or hear anything?'

There was a shaking of heads and a muttering from the others.

'I thought I heard a twig snap,' Tranah volunteered. 'But that was it. I didn't see a thing.'

The elders were not happy. In fact Vrael, once he had been alerted and brought to see for himself, turned white. 'Are you meaning to tell me,' he said slowly, 'That _none_ of you saw _anything?'_

The guards shook their heads again, very nervously.

Vrael examined the line of images over the gates, muttering feverishly under his breath.

'Do you know what it means, my Lord?' someone ventured.

Vrael was silent for a time. Then he turned to look at the assembled guards. 'I am ashamed,' he said.

'It wasn't your fault, Sir,' Morzan piped up.

Vrael went red. 'I am ashamed of _you!'_ he bellowed. 'You call yourselves riders? My gods, I have seen _dogs_ who made better guards than you. You're the most highly-trained and powerful warriors in the world, and you stood up there and – and let _this_ happen! Let someone deface our proud city and escape without any of you catching so much as a glimpse of them! What were you doing? If you were sleeping, then so help me-,'

'We weren't, Sir,' said Morzan, perhaps unwisely. 'I was wide awake. I just never saw a thing.'

'Morzan Drasborn, if you say another word I will make you wish there were more words for humiliation in the common tongue so you could find a way to describe exactly how I chose to punish you,' Vrael said, his rage becoming an icy calmness that was somehow much worse. 'Now get out of my sight. All of you. Get back to your cells and meditate on the concept of "duty" and see if you can remember what it means. Go!'

The guards knew better than to linger.

Once they had gone, the elders waited silently for their leader to speak. Vrael, however, said nothing. He had become very still, his eyes fixed on the row of pictures.

Eventually Oromis ventured to go to his side. He examined the burned images. At length he said; 'What do you make of it, Vrael? Can you understand what it means, assuming it means anything?'

Vrael glanced at him, and with a shock Oromis realised that the lord of the riders was afraid. But he showed no sign of having noticed, and waited respectfully for him to reply.

'The meaning is clear enough,' Vrael said at last.

The other elders went quiet.

Vrael raised his hand, tracing the pictures with the tip of a long finger. 'It's a message,' he said. 'All of it is. But these pictures here… yes…' He indicated the spiral and the image of the robed man. 'The vandal meant for this to represent himself. The eye means seeing. The dragon is us. And the sword, and the circle… the circle is a gedwëy ignaesia.'

'So what does it mean, Vrael?' said Saraswati, coming to him and touching him with a sympathy she had not shown toward him in a long time.

Vrael swallowed. 'It says… "I am watching you, and I mean to kill you".'

Oromis breathed in sharply. 'You don't think…?'

'Yes,' said Vrael. 'I do think that. He's alive. He's come back.'

'Calm down,' Saraswati advised. 'It doesn't mean that at all. It could have been-,'

'Been who, Saraswati?' Vrael interrupted, but there was no sharpness in his voice. 'Who? Who else could have done this? Who else could have crept up on us like a shadow in the night, and evaded the ears of six trained riders and their dragons? Who could have vanished so completely that there was no sign left behind?'

'It could have been someone else,' Saraswati persisted. 'There are other outlaws out there, other people who have a grudge against us…'

'Other people who would use this symbol?' said Vrael, pointing at the triple spiral. 'It's his sign, Saraswati. He had it tattooed on his shoulder. I saw it. And it was engraved on the blade of his sword.'

Saraswati stared at the symbols in the stone, and shuddered. 'What have we done, Vrael? What have we done?'

'Only justice,' said Vrael, his eyes as cold as death. 'Only justice.'

But from then on, the feeling of unease that settled over Ilirea never quite went away. Vrael ordered a massive, systematic search of the surrounding countryside, and one was indeed conducted, but without any result. No-one saw or heard a thing. The marks on the walls resisted all attempts made to remove them magically, and Vrael was eventually forced to pay a squad of workmen to paint over the top. However, this too failed. The marks showed through even the thickest coat of paint, and there was nothing Vrael could do to stop people from seeing them. Nor could he stop word of it from spreading.

In desperation, he made a decree stating that the bounty on Galbatorix's head had been doubled, that anyone who helped him would die the traitor's death, and that merely talking about him was now forbidden. All records that mentioned him were destroyed, every important change he had made in Teirm was overturned. All over the country, the riders worked with a kind of desperation, trying to wipe out all trace of the man Alagaësians now called the Great Betrayer.

For a time there was nothing. No incidents, no positive sightings. Nothing. And then, just when the rumours began to die down, word came from Carina, the new governor of Teirm. She sent a long and detailed report back to Ilirea, the contents of which were both stark and disturbing.

Something was happening in Teirm. Nobody was quite sure what or why. But the people were suddenly restless. Talk of the Great Betrayer had increased, and more and more people were speaking of him with respect. Some were even claiming to have seen his vengeful ghost stalking the streets at night when the moon was up, whispering the name of a dead dragon and reciting dark prophecies of revenge. A prominent supporter of the riders had been found murdered, and no-one had found any trace of the killer. The city had been searched high and low, but nothing had been found. And people were whispering that the Great Betrayer was alive, and that the elders were powerless to find him.

On the evening that the report arrived, the still-disgraced Morzan found himself standing outside the door of Vrael's study, fidgeting nervously. In spite of his heavy, solid frame he was terrified of the lord of the riders.

'Enter.'

Morzan obeyed. He found Vrael sitting behind his desk, his eyes shadowed and making his face look like a skull. The young rider knew better than to say anything, and stood silently on the other side of the desk, waiting for Vrael to speak.

'I have an assignment for you,' Vrael said at length. 'You are to go to Teirm and assist Carina. She will need help to bring the city back under control. These are your instructions.' He held out a scroll.

Morzan took it dumbly. 'But,' he faltered. 'But… I ain't – I mean, I haven't finished my training yet, Sir.'

Vrael had already lost interest in him. 'I doubt that should be a problem,' he said, turning his attention to the papers in front of him.

Morzan hesitated, but could not stop himself from asking. 'What does that mean, Sir?'

Vrael glanced up. 'Your training has been put on hiatus,' he said briefly. 'You will be fully inducted at a later date. Until then, you will go to Teirm and do as Carina tells you. Is that understood?'

Morzan blinked. 'Hiatus? But… I don't understand. Why? What did I do wrong? I tried my best…'

'You are a human,' said Vrael. 'Your training will resume when we are sure we can trust you. Not before.'

Morzan was outraged. '_What?_ That's not fair! I din't do anything wrong!'

Vrael was looking at him with undisguised contempt. 'You humans have recently proven yourself to be more than corruptible, even when you call yourselves riders. To be frank, I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of having allowed your race to become part of our great order at all.'

'It's not my fault I'm human!' Morzan yelled, forgetting his fear of Vrael. 'It's not my fault for what Arren did-,'

Vrael's fist slammed onto the desk, so hard that the wood cracked. _'Don't – mention – that name in my presence,'_ the elf snarled, half-rising to point straight at Morzan's face, his eyes blazing with cold fire.

'I'm sorry-,' Morzan began.

'Get out of my sight!' Vrael bellowed.

Morzan didn't. He was too confused to know what to do, and stood stupidly on the spot, staring wide-eyed at the lord of the riders.

'You're useless!' Vrael went on, his temper frayed beyond all reason. 'Why did we even bring you to Ellesméra at all? You're an idiot, Morzan, a big, blundering, worthless idiot. Now get out of here before I burn the sacred mark away from your hand and send you back to Dras-Leona to drive the brick-cart you were born in.'

Morzan needed no further encouragement. He ran out of the office.

The single room of the tavern known as the Naked Rat was bustling. It was evening, and people were drinking and relaxing after a day's work. The tavern was warm thanks to a roaring fire in the iron stove in the middle of the floor, and the tables and benches that filled the room were thronged. The tavern-keeper ran back and forth from the bar, carrying fresh pints of beer, and the place was noisy with a dozen conversations, occasionally punctuated by rough laughter.

There was only one spot in the room that was quiet. In one corner there was a little pocket of shadow where a torch had gone out, and there, nearly invisible in the gloom, a solitary figure sat at a table and silently watched everything.

It listened to the conversation going on at the table nearest to it.

'…okay, okay, so what did it look like? Did it look like a ghost?'

'How should I know what a ghost looks like? I told you what I saw. A shadow shaped like a man in a robe that walked without making a sound. It just moved over the street right in front of me, then disappeared. Sent a shiver right down my spine, like someone'd stepped on my grave.'

'It's rubbish,' one man scoffed. 'You probably saw some old beggar or something and just freaked out 'cause you was drunk.'

'I was perfectly sober, thankyou very much, Naldo,' the first man said coldly. 'And if you'd seen it for yerself, you wouldn't be talkin' like that. It's real.'

'Oh yeah? And how many other people've seen it, eh? You tell me that.'

'I've seen it,' said a voice.

They looked around sharply. At first they couldn't tell who had spoken, but then they saw the shrouded figure sitting in the corner as it reached out to pick up the loaf of bread it was eating.

'If you care about your health, you'll stop listening in on other people,' Naldo threatened.

His friend, however, said; 'What's that you said?'

'I said I've seen it,' the stranger said in a low voice that somehow cut through the hubbub. 'I've seen the shadow that walks.'

Naldo rolled his eyes. But his friend said; 'When? Where?'

'Outside the castle,' said the stranger. 'In the streets. Everywhere. I've seen it a hundred times. I've heard it speak.'

'Oh yeah? Then what did it say?' said Naldo.

'I know what it is,' said the stranger, ignoring him and addressing the one who claimed to have seen it.

The man shivered slightly. 'What is it, then?'

'It's a ghost,' said the stranger. 'The ghost of someone the riders killed. It wanders the streets looking for a lost dragon. It's a sign that the power of the rider elders is waning. Soon they will be punished for what they have done.'

'You mean…' the one who had seen the ghost lowered his voice. 'You mean… it's _him?'_

'I'm not sure what you mean,' the stranger said in a flat voice.

The man lowered his voice even further. 'I mean… the Great Betrayer,' he almost whispered.

'Ah,' said the stranger. 'The Great Betrayer.'

Dead silence fell.

Every single person in the tavern turned to look at the corner.

'Are you mad?' one man shouted. 'You're not supposed to be talkin' about…that.'

The stranger stood up. When the light fell on him, he was revealed to be a tall, thin shape, completely anonymous in a long cloak with a hood. 'The Great Betrayer will return,' he said in a loud voice. 'Don't you think he isn't coming back? Don't you think he's going to get revenge? He's coming. And when that happens, let the ones who betrayed him beware.'

'Get out of here!' the tavern-keeper shouted, shoving his way through the crowd toward him. 'We don't allow that sort of talk in here. Are you mad? Wanna get yourself killed?'

A chilling laugh came from under the hood. 'The riders cannot kill someone who is already dead,' the stranger said.

Then he vanished. Shouts of fright went up from the drinkers, and half a dozen people started forward toward the spot where he had been. But there was nothing there. No trace of him remained. But he had left a sign. Carved into the table-top was a strange symbol. Three spirals, joined together.

'What the hell's that?' said someone.

Everyone crowded around for a look, all talking at once. Then a skinny young man pushed his way forward and ran his fingers over the mark. 'I know what this is,' he announced. 'I seen it b'fore.'

'Oh yeah? What is it, then?' said someone.

The boy took a bite of the loaf of bread in his hand. 'S'his sign,' he said. 'The one he uses to tell people he's been there.'

'Who's sign?'

The boy looked furtive. 'I ain't sayin'. You know. Him. But he left this symbol all over Ilirea's walls, an' no-one ever saw him.'

There was a murmuring.

'D'you think he's real, then?' Naldo asked of no-one in particular. 'I saw him once. When he was governor here. There was something about him that scared me.'

'They say he's insane,' said someone else.

'I heard he sleeps in a coffin,' another one volunteered.

The boy with the loaf of bread grinned. '_I_ heard he never sleeps at all.'

Naldo's friend, the one who had seen the ghost, spoke out. 'He's real,' he said, looking around at his fellows. 'We know he's real now. And when he comes back, I'm going to be ready for him.'

The other drinkers dispersed hastily, muttering. Left alone, the man stared fixedly at the mark on the table.

The back of his neck prickled. And then, quite suddenly, he heard a voice in his head. _'If you're going to be ready, be ready in silence,'_ it whispered. _'Say nothing. The riders are not forgiving, and they will destroy you too if you give them reason for it. But I will remember your name, Hadrick Teirmborn…'_

Hadrick turned around sharply. There was no-one there but the boy with the loaf of bread, who glared at him drunkenly and said; 'What're _you_ lookin' at?' before wandering off out of the tavern.

The other patrons left not long afterward, too disturbed to settle down again, and once the last of them had closed the door behind him the tavern-keeper resignedly locked it and began tidying up. Once he'd finished he snuffed the torches he went upstairs to his home, leaving the barroom deserted.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then a shadowy figure unfolded itself from under the bench in the corner and removed its hood.

Galbatorix snickered and crept over to the bar. He helped himself to a bottle of beer and half a bag of nuts that someone had left behind, along with a handful of coins from the jar hidden under the counter. After that it was the work of a moment to unlatch a window and slip out into the alley behind the tavern. Once there, he pulled his hood over his face and vanished into the shadows once more.

The journey through the darkened streets was dangerous, but thrilling. He used the shadows just as the dark elves had taught him, occasionally darting across an open space when there was no-one around. But he had more than one aim in mind than simply getting to a good hiding-spot. As he went along, he waited until he saw someone walking alone along a deserted street. He watched them from the shadow of a building, and then began to follow them, dogging their steps and moving ever closer, until he was so near he could have reached out and touched them.

The person, a woman, moved a little faster, her breathing indicating that she was feeling nervous. Galbatorix continued to follow her silently. He reached out mentally and touched her mind, lightly enough that she only just felt it, but enough to find out her name. The woman gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of another mind in her head, turning quickly to see what had caused it. But there was no-one there. Or, at least, no-one she could see.

And then, from the shadows, the voice came. 'Beware, Barra, beware. Beware the vengeance of the riders. The Great Betrayer is coming. Your time is coming with him. Be ready, Barra…'

'Who's there?' the woman demanded, reaching for the dagger at her waist.

But Galbatorix had already slipped away.

He went on his way, keeping well hidden. He'd done this many times before, and it had even been fun the first few times. He had been surprised at how quickly word had spread of the supposed ghost haunting Teirm's streets. Many of the things the spectre had supposedly done ventured into the realm of the fantastic, and even though he had only deliberately revealed himself to a handful of people, the stories made it sound as if his appearances had numbered in the hundreds. Supposedly, the ghost had been seen standing on the castle wall with a white dragon beside it, watching over the city like a spectral guardian. It was said that Carina, the new governor, was too frightened to leave the castle, and that one of the city slavers who had resumed his trade had killed himself out of sheer terror when the ghost began haunting his house at night. He'd kept on scaring people, muttering dire warnings from the shadows and occasionally showing himself – albeit without ever revealing his face – to keep the momentum going, and was grimly pleased by the result.

But it was frustrating and dangerous. He had to pick up the latest gossip by lurking in shadows and listening to people talk, but the streets were so busy during the day that it was nearly impossible to move around unnoticed. Someone who kept their face hidden was instantly an object of interest, but on the other hand, if he let anyone see him properly he ran too high a risk of being recognised. He'd hardly slept at all the last few weeks; even when he did find a safe place to rest, he was always too on edge to sleep properly. And finding food was a problem as well. He'd had to subsist on whatever bits and pieces he could steal, and it simply wasn't enough. If he was going to stay in Teirm any longer, he would have to find a more secure and permanent place to stay.

But, as it happened, he had one in mind. He had thought of it while hiding under the bench in the tavern, and as he loped through the streets toward it he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

He turned a corner, walked along a darkened road, and finally stopped. The darkened façade of the House of Taranis loomed over him, and he smiled grimly.

He vaulted neatly over the wall that surrounded it, and made his way around to the back of the house. There it was the work of a moment to open a side-door with magic, and he entered the house, locking the door behind him.

It was pitch black inside the house. The only source of illumination was moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Galbatorix padded through the shadow-ridden hallways, making no sound saved for his measured breathing. At long last he was in the home that rightfully belonged to him, the place where he should have been allowed to grow up. He grinned to himself. 'You're mine now,' he said under his breath, addressing the ancient presence of the house where his mother had grown up. 'The last Lord Taranisäii has come home.'

He snickered dryly at his own wit, and slid away into the little stone room where the trapdoor led into the crypt. He lifted the trapdoor, and without hesitation stepped down into the musty blackness, letting the trapdoor fall back into place behind him, sealing him in. Only then did he conjure up a magical light to show him the way.

He descended the stairs in silence, holding his glowing hands out in front of him. When he reached the bottom he stood still awhile, looking around with a strange feeling of awe at the array of stone faces that peered out of the gloom.

However, tiredness quickly put an end to any nervousness over being surrounded by the dead. He muttered a few words and created a black fire in the middle of the floor, which quickly brought light and warmth into the crypt. He sat down gratefully beside it and emptied his pockets, neatly lining up the various things he'd stolen that day. Most of it was food. He picked up some bread and tore at it hungrily, mentally congratulating himself on having found such an excellent hideout. No-one would even consider looking for him in here. And even if they did, he planned to be ready for them.

But there were other things to attend to. He finished his meal and then removed his cloak, draping it over the tomb of Lord Horatius Taranisäii the Third. Returning to the fireside, he sat awhile in thought, absent-mindedly rubbing his chin. Over the last few weeks he had, albeit reluctantly, allowed the new beard to grow back into the scruffy affair it had been back at the cave, even encouraging it to do so with magic. It made him look like a tramp, but it also made him virtually unrecognisable, and if he was going to travel safely and talk directly to people without rousing suspicion, he was going to have to change his appearance.

He sighed and picked up a dagger. There was nothing else for it. He muttered a sharpening spell over the blade, and began to cut off his hair. His cherished black curls slowly piled up around him in soft heaps, and once he had finished he gathered it up and threw it into the fire. He ran his fingers through the uneven mess that was left on his head. It felt like stubble in some places, and like fur in others. He wished he had a mirror so he could at least make an attempt to even it up, but in the absence of that this would have to do. He sighed and muttered a spell over it, and when he thought it was done he plucked out a couple of hairs and examined them in the firelight. Sure enough, they had changed colour. He did the same to his beard and eyebrows, then relaxed and chewed rather miserably at a withered apple. _I must look ridiculous,_ he thought.

Still, it was better than being recognised. Now, at least, he could walk down a street without fear.

He yawned and lay down by the fire, huddled inside his ragged robe. He couldn't help but notice how loosely it hung off him these days. But here, at least, he was safe, and he felt himself truly relax for the first time in two months. The warmth of the fire soaked into him, and he dozed.

He woke again an hour or so later, and, still half-asleep and without quite meaning to do it, he let his mind expand to touch his surroundings.

When he sensed another consciousness in the room, he stood up so quickly it made him dizzy, wrenching White Violence out of its sheath. The reaction was automatic to the point that he did it before he even realised what he was doing. One moment he was drowsing in the firelight, the next he was up and ready to fight.

He looked around sharply, reaching out with his mind again to search for the alien presence he had sensed. There was no sign of anyone else in the crypt, but his psychic senses told him that there was.

He concentrated harder, trying to figure out exactly where it was, and to his bewilderment he traced it to a spot somewhere under the floor.

He walked to that spot and stood there, looking down at the stone and puzzling. Were there other chambers beneath him? He didn't want to probe this other mind too much lest it realise he was there, but he examined it as closely as he dared, trying to absorb information from it.

As he forced himself to relax and feel the other mind, his puzzlement increased. The mind felt simple, very simple. Whatever it was, it wasn't very active, as if the owner was asleep. But he knew one thing for sure – it wasn't human. And yet, he realised, it was also psychic. He could feel it reaching out to touch its surroundings just as he had been doing. He tried to hide his own mind from it, but it sensed his presence. For a few seconds he felt it examining his mind, and then it withdrew. He couldn't pick up any emotions from it, but he could tell it was very simple.

He looked at the ground again, unable to comprehend what was going on. How could there be another mind – a psychic mind – buried several feet underground? After all, he was standing on solid…

Realisation dawned. Heart pounding, he scrambled away back toward the fire and held out his hand. '_Reisa.'_

The slab of stone lifted, raising a cloud of dust and loose soil. He moved it aside, and jumped down into the vault beneath. The chests of treasure were still there. But, sure enough, he could feel the mind coming from inside the last of the chests. He lifted the lid, and there it was.

The black egg gleamed dully in the gloomy depths of the chest. He lifted it out reverentially, feeling its cool weight in his hands. A quick mental probing confirmed it. The egg was alive.

He carried it out of the hole and back to the fireside, where he sat down, cradling the egg in his lap. When he put his ear to it, he could just hear a faint heartbeat coming from inside. And the weak, simple consciousness of the dragon hatchling inside was reaching out to touch his mind with its own. This time he let it in, embracing its presence and letting it absorb all it wanted from him. He could feel it wandering through his mind, examining his memories and discovering his nature. This, he knew, was what dragons did while they were in the egg. This was how they chose their riders. When Laela had done it to him he had been untrained and hadn't felt it. Now, though, he was aware of it all, and a wonderful possibility occurred to him. What if this dragon decided to hatch for him? What if he could be a rider again, with a dragon as his partner? It would put an end to his loneliness and his uncertainty, give him back his confidence, make him whole again. He could fight if he had a dragon again.

Feeling a lump in his throat at the memory of what he had lost, he concentrated as hard as he could on summoning up the desperate need inside him and letting the dragon feel it. _I need help, I need help, I need your help, please help me, please._

But he had gone too far. The dragon's mind suddenly tasted of fear, and it withdrew from him and back into its egg. Without thinking, Galbatorix pursued it, entering into the dragon's mind. A second later he realised what he was doing, and retreated, but in the instant that he did so, leaden despair thudded into his stomach. The hole inside him opened up, and he was overcome with an agony so intense it made him nauseous.

And before he could prevent it, that feeling spilled over into the dragon, hitting it in a horrible wave of mental suffering and anguish.

Galbatorix sat back, swearing and clutching at his chest until the pain died away, not quite realising what had happened.

But, inside the egg, the dragon hatchling felt his pain rebounding inside its mind. It was the first true pain it had ever felt, a feeling its simple consciousness was completely unprepared for. And the dragon panicked. Overcome by a desperate need to escape from whatever had caused the feeling, it began to fight against the walls of its prison with all its might.

And Galbatorix felt the egg move in his hands. He put it down on the ground in front of him and watched with mounting excitement as it rocked back and forth. Not a sound came from inside it, but it moved with a violence he had never seen in a hatching egg before. Cracks spread over the black shell like forked lightning, and egg slime oozed out.

Outside in the city, something strange began to happen.

It had been a cool, clear night, with scarcely a breeze to disturb the peace. But as the egg began to hatch down in the crypt of the House of Taranis, the wind suddenly picked up. And, seemingly from out of nowhere, darkness closed over the sky. Lightning flashed, turning the entire city blinding white for a fraction of a second. Moments later, thunder split the sky. The wind blew more and more powerfully, and the banners up on the castle walls snapped back and forth. One tore free and was carried away, sucked up into the flashing, raging void that the sky had become.

The storm built up in mere minutes, and soon it was everywhere. White lightning struck one of the towers of the castle, which exploded into rubble. In the docks, huge waves crashed onto the shore and the various boats bobbed up and down, pulling at their moorings as if trying to escape. People in the streets ran for cover. Moments later, it began to rain.

Down in the crypt, oblivious to all this, Galbatorix watched as flakes of black shell came away from the egg. Its perfectly smooth shape began to collapse in on itself, and then bulged outward as a small snout broke through the membrane beneath the shell, thrusting out into the light of the black fire. He resisted the urge to help the dragon hatch, and merely watched, his black eyes glittering.

At last the egg broke apart, spilling its contents onto the cold stone. A dragon hatchling, as black as its egg had been, already struggling to its claws, its mouth opening to gasp in its first breath. It was just as small and helpless as Laela had been, all tail, head and wings, but writhing with life. It got up after a few attempts, and instantly ran away, its wet wings dragging on the ground, its soft claws scrabbling. Galbatorix, taken aback, watched it go. It ran straight past the fire toward the open vault, and jumped down into it without pausing.

Galbatorix got up and went to the edge of the vault, looking down at the chests. The dragon was in there, nearly invisible in the gloom, growling and licking itself clean. He reached down toward it, but it snapped and snarled at him, its tiny fangs bared, and he withdrew hastily.

'It's all right,' he said. 'I won't hurt you. I'm a friend.'

The hatchling ignored him. He could see its flanks quivering with fright.

'My name's Galbatorix,' he said.

The hatchling looked up at that. Its eyes were silver as Laela's had been, but there was no sign of intelligence in them. They were the eyes of a wild animal: cold, fierce, wary.

'It's all right,' he said again. 'I didn't mean to scare you.'

The black dragon blinked slowly, then resumed cleaning its wings. They, unlike its body, were pure white.

Once it was apparently satisfied that the last traces of egg slime were gone, it peered up at him again. And then, to his amazement, it spoke. Aloud, somewhat clumsily, and in the common tongue. 'Where?' it said.

Galbatorix started. 'You spoke!'

The dragon hissed at him. 'Where?' it said again, its voice harsh and rasping. 'Where… mother? Where… father?'

'I don't know,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm sorry. But I'll keep you safe, I swear. Do you have a name?'

The dragon blinked again. Finally it said; 'Named Shruikan.'

'I'm Galbatorix,' Galbatorix said again. 'Will you come out of there, Shruikan? I've got food for you.'

Shruikan snapped his teeth. 'You keep away. Human. You steal me. You take from parents. You enemy.'

'I'm not,' Galbatorix insisted. 'Shruikan, I'm not. I didn't steal you. I'm your friend, I swear.'

'You lie,' Shruikan rasped. 'Human lie. You steal me, Taranis.'

Galbatorix froze. '_Taranis?_ You think I'm Taranis?'

'Know voice,' said Shruikan. 'You Taranis.'

'Taranis is dead,' said Galbatorix. 'He's been dead for hundreds of years.'

Shruikan paused over that. 'Taranis… dead? He dead?'

'Yes, for a very long time. Shruikan… who were your parents? Do you know?'

'Mother named Silarae,' said Shruikan. 'Father… Ravana. Want them.'

Galbatorix's mind froze. _Ravana?_ 'Shruikan, did you have any siblings? Any brothers or sisters?'

'Not know,' said Shruikan. 'Not remember. Want parents. You tell me… where are they?'

'Your mother is dead,' Galbatorix said softly. 'I'm sorry, Shruikan. She and Taranis died on the same day. And your father… I don't know where he is. He disappeared. But I know where your sister is. Your sister, Skade. And you have a brother, Kullervo, and another sister, Saphira. I can help you to find them.'

Shruikan snapped his teeth nervously. 'Want food,' he said at length.

'Wait here,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll get some for you.'

He returned to the fireside and picked up some dried meat he'd been saving. He carried that back with him and tossed it to Shruikan. He caught it neatly and ate it, chewing industriously. It seemed to give him new strength, and once he had finished he looked up at Galbatorix and said; 'Good food. You… help me find sisters? Brother? Father?'

'I'll help you,' said Galbatorix. 'I can tell you things. Listen to me, Shruikan. I lost my parents too. They were taken away from me by my enemies. And I had a dragon once. I was a rider. But they took her away from me as well. I need a dragon to help me fight. Shruikan, will you make me your rider? Bind yourself to me and we can fight side-by-side. We can both get revenge for what happened to us.'

Shruikan's reaction to that was quite violent. He recoiled, snarling, his small talons extended. 'No rider!' he said. 'No binding! Shruikan is free. You stay away, human.'

'It's all right, Shruikan,' Galbatorix said again. 'Calm down. I'm not forcing you to do anything. And if you won't be my partner, will you at least be my friend?'

'Not need friends,' said Shruikan. 'Go away.'

'But where will you go?' said Galbatorix. 'Listen to me, Shruikan. You are a black dragon. There are no other dragons like you. Your father spent his whole life being hunted by other people because he was black. Everyone hated him. And they will hate you too. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will never be safe. The world won't accept you. But I know, Shruikan. I understand. Because the world hates and fears me too, and no matter where I go or what I do, people hate me. They hated me from the day I was born. Because I am like you. You and I are one of a kind, Shruikan. One of a kind. If we join together, we can be safe. We can fight back, you and I. But if we go alone, we'll die.'

Shruikan listened. It was difficult to say how much of it he understood, but afterwards he said; 'You help Shruikan, then?'

'Yes, Shruikan, I will. I'll bring you food and help you to stay hidden. For as long as you need me to. And after that, you decide what you want to do.'

Shruikan spread his white wings, stretching them. He seemed to be thinking. 'Shruikan sleep now,' he said eventually, and curled up behind the chest where his egg had lain, closing his eyes.

Galbatorix watched him for a while, and then withdrew quietly. His mind was in a whirl from what had happened. He went back to sit by the fire, but almost as soon as he had done so he suddenly realised how tired he was. He picked up his few belongings and put them into his pockets, returning White Violence to its sheath on his back. Suddenly the crypt didn't feel quite as secure as he had thought, and he glanced around, looking for a good spot where he could sleep while remaining hidden from anyone who came down the stairs. But there was nothing in the crypt except the stone tombs, and the gaps between them were too small for him to fit into.

In the end, he did the only thing he could think of. It was unpleasant, but it was the only way to truly be secure. He went to the tomb at the very end of the chamber, screwed up his courage and muttered a spell. The lid, statue and all, lifted silently, and he laid it aside and looked into the dark space that was the last resting place of Taranis himself.

There was nothing in there. The tomb was empty. He sighed in relief. Evidently Taranis' remains had never been recovered, or had completely disintegrated over the centuries.

He retrieved his cloak and laid it inside the tomb, then snuffed out the fire, hesitated for a moment in the darkness, and climbed into the tomb, lying down inside it with White Violence resting on his chest. It was surprisingly comfortable. He lifted the tomb's lid with another spell and returned it to its place, sealing him inside with a tiny gap at the edge to let in air.

Galbatorix grinned in the darkness. They had wanted to put him into a tomb, and now he had granted their wish for them.

Not long later, he slept.


	27. Apprehension

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Apprehension

For the next few days, Galbatorix lived in the crypt with Shruikan and did his best to get by. He left the crypt every night and went into the city to steal food and, occasionally, frighten some unsuspecting soul. He even, in the end, went out during the day as well, to see if his new appearance would be enough to keep him anonymous. It worked. No-one looked twice at him, and although there were a few rude remarks about his increasingly wild and shaggy-looking hair, he blended in with the crowd almost perfectly. It meant he was able to legitimately buy things, so he used the last of his money to buy himself some proper food, as well as some meat for Shruikan.

The black dragon remained wild and untrusting, preferring to hide in the vault, which Galbatorix left slightly open for him, although he did in the end venture out to explore the crypt. He was soon testing his wings, climbing up onto the tombs and launching himself from the tops, trying out a clumsy glide. After a few days he was getting steadily better at it. His claws hardened, and he sharpened them on the stone, growling to himself. He had a hunter's instinct, and spent a lot of time scuttling around the floor, hunting for mice and rats. Galbatorix brought him plenty of food, and he thrived on it, although he refused to let Galbatorix touch him. His speech improved, and he became less monosyllabic, though he was not talkative and listened to whatever Galbatorix said to him in silence. He was not like Laela at all; he was a wild dragon through and through, and clearly did not like being cooped up underground like this. But Galbatorix would not let him leave and was careful to weight down the trapdoor whenever he left, for fear that the dragon would try and escape. He felt cruel doing this, but he knew perfectly well that if Shruikan was seen in the streets he would be in danger straight away.

Shruikan started to grow almost immediately, and Galbatorix knew that in a few months he would be too big to live in the crypt. It was an excellent hiding place, but sooner or later he was going to have to leave it. And yet, if he let Shruikan out, he knew what would happen then. The dragon wouldn't stay with him. If he got the chance he would fly away, and Galbatorix wouldn't be able to find him. He'd go back to the Spine, most likely, and there the other wild dragons would rip him to pieces. Or, if he didn't fly away, he might decide to turn on the man who was, technically, his gaoler. If Galbatorix didn't somehow win his allegiance before then, the result could be death for one or both of them. No, he could not stay in the crypt. He would have to leave it, and soon, while Shruikan was still small enough to be restrained.

But where could he go? Somewhere in the wilderness, perhaps. But hiding out on his own was easy. Doing it in the company of a half-grown dragon – a dragon that, moreover, was completely different from any other dragon – would be nigh-on impossible, especially if that dragon was uncooperative and didn't want to be with him.

He wrestled over the problem endlessly, lurking in shadows at night and stalking people through the streets, his mind occupied with the various ways of dealing with it. If only Shruikan trusted him, if only he could ask him to help, but the dragon was too young to understand complex ideas, and too savage to listen. Sometimes Galbatorix felt resentful toward him for effectively ruining his chances of staying in Teirm. But he couldn't help but grow fond of the hatchling as well. Although he was so untrusting and uncompromising, he was intelligent and brave; brave enough to show no fear of Galbatorix, even though he was many times bigger than him and could have killed him with his bare hands. He also showed curiosity rather than fear when he saw Galbatorix use magic, and on the rare occasion when he actually spoke to him of his own volition it was to ask about how it worked; a question Galbatorix answered readily enough.

No, Galbatorix did not blame Shruikan. But he was frightened for him as well as for himself. Whether by their own choice or not they were both in danger, and it was up to him to keep Shruikan safe. And at least, he realised, he was no longer alone.

On the evening of the fifth day after Shruikan's hatching, when there was a bright full moon out, he crept into the city with the intention of stealing more food. His route took him past the castle, and as he was walking silently back down into the city and away from it, he saw a solitary figure going in the same direction. Almost automatically, he began to stalk it. He was getting better at following people without being seen, and after so many nights spent playing ghost it had almost become second nature.

His latest victim was also cloaked and hooded, and moved with a certain grace, although he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. He followed it anyway, starting to grin. It was thrilling, this half-game he played.

When he was close enough, he reached out toward the victim's mind, and that was when everything went wrong.

The instant his mind touched theirs, he was fiercely repelled. Not just blocked, but actually mentally attacked, and so hard that his vision went grey for a second. Before he could recover, a word was shouted and a gout of livid green light hit him square in the chest.

Galbatorix fell, hard. He landed on his back, pain crackling through his limbs. Panic shot through him and he made a desperate attempt to get up, but his body wouldn't obey him, and he slumped back onto the cobbles. He blacked out for a few seconds, and woke again to the sound of footsteps. He looked up and saw a wavering image of his captor, standing over him. Through the roaring in his ears he heard a voice say; 'All right. Let's see who you really are.'

The hood was ripped away from his face, and his vision cleared at last, letting him see who had overpowered him.

It was Carina. The green-eyed woman peered at him, squinting slightly in the gloom. Galbatorix stared back, terror turning his stomach to ice. It was all up. She'd caught him.

Carina blinked. 'Who the hell are you?' she demanded. 'You're the person who's been sneaking around the place at night, aren't you?'

Galbatorix said nothing, but his fear lessened as he realised that she didn't recognise him. Had he really changed that much?

Carina summoned up a magical light in order to look at him more closely. What she saw was a skinny, malnourished young man clad in a set of rags that could not by any stretch be referred to as clothes. He had a thatch of shaggy, murky brown hair, and his face was obscured by a tangled beard of the same colour. All in all he looked like any homeless beggar one might see in the streets. But he was psychic, she knew that much.

The boy tried to drag himself away from her, but Carina planted her boot on his chest, pinning him down. 'Oh no you don't,' she said. 'You're not going anywhere until I get some answers. Who are you? Why were you following me, and how did you know how to do that with your mind? Don't lie; I know it was you.' She tried to probe at his mind, but found it was blocked. She blinked. 'What in the…?'

And that was when she saw the one thing that had not changed. It was the eyes. They stared at her from out of that thin, grubby face, and she knew them. Black eyes. Black, fathomless eyes, looking at her with a pleading, frightened expression she had seen before, that terrible day when she had last seen the man the world now called the Great Betrayer.

'Oh my gods,' she said. 'It's _you._'

Too late, she realised her danger. The boy's bony hands took hold of her ankle, viciously twisting it sideways. Carina fell, and the next moment Galbatorix had sprung upright and launched himself at her. She managed to scramble away and regain her feet, but he drew his sword and attacked, letting out a wild scream like a wounded wolf.

Carina drew her own blade, Svard-Hvass, and was just in time to defend herself. The two swords met with a loud crash of steel, and they began to fight.

But Carina was at a disadvantage. It was not that she was not a skilled swordswoman – she was – but she was afraid. And her fear only increased as she fought on. This was the Great Betrayer. This was the one who had beaten Vrael in single combat while armed with nothing but a blunted practise sword. And he fought like the wild animal he had come to resemble, driving forward in a flurry of terrible blows, his bony frame packed with energy. If he had screamed or snarled as he fought, if he had shown some sign of passion, it might almost have been better. But his attack, frenzied though it was, came in absolute silence.

And before that, Carina faltered, and it cost her dearly. In a split second, Svard-Hvass was knocked from her hand in a blow so powerful it sent pain shooting straight up the bone in her arm. But she reacted fast. She dodged the next attack and summoned up her magic. A vivid ball of green fire shot straight at Galbatorix's face, but he blocked it with a quick shielding spell and counter-attacked. Carina managed to block it, but then Galbatorix spoke a string of words in some strange, lilting language she did not understand, and before she knew what was happening, a force had lifted her off her feet and slammed her into a wall. She landed in a crumpled heap, panting and gasping in pain. She looked up through dimmed eyes, and saw him standing over her, his sword pointed at her throat, his own eyes blazing with triumph.

'Please,' Carina whispered. 'Please, don't kill me! Please, Arren.'

He paused at that, and for a moment a flicker of recognition showed in his face.

'Please,' Carina said again. 'I don't want to fight you. I just want to talk.'

For a few agonising seconds, he didn't move. But then he withdrew the sword slightly.

It was just enough. Carina drew a dagger from her sleeve and hurled it. The weapon caught Galbatorix in the stomach, embedding itself in him. He screamed and staggered backward, and the next moment Carina was on him. She leapt upright and rushed at him, snatching up her sword from the ground in one fluid movement.

But Galbatorix was not defeated. He saw her coming, and, maddened by pain, he attacked. White Violence's blade hit Carina hard, inflicting a terrible slash across her midsection. She screamed and fell, blood pumping out onto her clothes and turning them red in seconds. But in spite of her injury she tried desperately to get up and defend herself, only falling back when the pain nearly made her lose consciousness. Helpless, she looked up and saw him standing there, holding the bloody sword ready in his hand.

For a moment he stood there, swaying slightly, the dagger still protruding from his stomach. Then he turned and ran away, vanishing into the darkness and leaving behind nothing but a few spots of blood.

Shruikan was dozing in the vault, but woke up instantly when he heard the trapdoor above him creak open. The black hatchling lifted his head sharply, peering up out of his hiding-place. The strange black fire was still burning in the crypt, and the silvery glow it gave off illuminated the dark figure coming down the stairs. Shruikan stood on his hind legs, his foreclaws gripping the edge of the hole, and saw it stop at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall. Hurt, ragged breathing came from it, and it took a few more steps forward and then collapsed by the fire.

Shruikan could tell from the scent that it was Galbatorix. He climbed out of the vault and warily went to investigate.

Galbatorix lay on his side, his hands clutching at the dagger that was still stuck in him. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled it out. Immediately, blood began to trickle out of him and pool on the floor. Too much blood. Too fast. He pressed down on the wound, trying to staunch the flow, but it oozed between his fingers, turning both hands red and sticky. He was bleeding to death. Dizzy and confused, his vision going grey, he summoned up his magic and tried to heal himself, but it was already too late. The attempt sent a shockwave of hot, sick pain through his whole body, and he raised his head slightly and vomited blood all over the floor. The pain that caused was so intense that he blacked out, his head hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

But death wasn't going to come that quickly. He woke up a few moments later when something touched his face, and looked up dully to see Shruikan's small face.

Galbatorix coughed, more blood bubbling up into his mouth. His right hand twitched, the fingers curling amid the pool of red vomit by the fire, but he made no other move. From somewhere far away he heard Shruikan's gruff little voice.

'You are hurt.'

With a mighty effort, Galbatorix found his voice again. 'Yes,' he rasped, blood gurgling in his throat. 'Listen,' he said. 'Shruikan. Get… away… leave. Escape. Left… trapdoor… open for you. Go, Shruikan. Go…'

'But you are hurt,' said Shruikan, not understanding.

Galbatorix's hand moved again, the forefinger extending to point at the darkened stairs leading out of the crypt. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, his eyes closing. 'I can't… help you any more, Shruikan. I'm going to… going to die. Get away. They'll come looking. Run.'

Shruikan looked at the stairs which led into the world he had never seen. Then he looked at Galbatorix. The human was lying quite still, his eyes closed. Then, slowly, his hair and beard changed colour. Dark brown became jet black, black as night, black as Shruikan's own scales.

The dragon blinked, confused. He had never seen anything like that before.

The human had gone very pale. He was barely breathing now. Shruikan watched him closely, not knowing what to do. _Go,_ he'd said. _Run away. _

Shruikan turned away toward the stairs that led to freedom. He could feel a faint breeze on his face, coming from the shadows that lay ahead, and he put his foreclaws on the bottom step, tensing in readiness to jump.

But then, quite suddenly, as he stared into the darkness that was the world outside, fear struck into his heart. It was fear of the unknown. The freedom he had craved lay on the other side of a shadow, and Shruikan realised that he feared it. He did not want to pass through it alone. The world outside was beyond his comprehension. He had never seen the open sky, never known was outside the stone room where he had hatched, and now, when he was so close, he did not want to leave.

The little dragon stopped and lowered himself back onto the floor, looking back into the crypt with its flickering shadows and silent stone faces. He had considered it a prison, but now he realised that it was the only home he had ever known. If he left it, he would be lost.

It was very cold now. The fire was beginning to weaken. Shruikan could hear the shallow, gasping breaths of the dying human. There was blood on the floor, drying in the warmth from the fire. It looked pitch black in the silvery gloom, like a liquid shadow.

While Shruikan stood there, torn between staying and leaving, a strange sound disturbed the eerie silence. It was a low, faint rumble, coming from somewhere overhead.

A storm was building. Shruikan looked up at the shadowy stairs, and saw them suddenly light up, turning pure white for the fraction of a second.

Outside, a mighty gale began to blow, bringing black clouds in from the sea. Thunder and lightning fought a battle in the sky. It was an unnatural storm, a looming, raging presence that turned the air over the city into a maelstrom of boiling cloud and savage light and sound, and a wind that tore the tiles from the rooftops and howled around the deserted House of Taranis, so loud that Shruikan, crouching there in the crypt, could hear it.

But he felt no fear at all. The light flashed again from somewhere beyond the shadows, followed by the growl and roar of thunder, and that was when Shruikan saw something. He saw… a shadow, cast upon the wall just for an instant, and it was the shadow of a massive dark dragon, wings raised, mouth open wide in a mighty roar of thunder. It was unlike any dragon Shruikan had ever imagined, but he knew it was his friend. It was there to protect him, it was his guardian. It owned the storm, and so did he.

When the lightning flashed again, he realised that the dragon was his own shadow. And in that instant, power flooded into him. Power and certainty. He felt himself grow, his spirit filling his body like molten metal, his chest expanding with a roar like thunder. A voice filled his head, deep and powerful, and rich. _Shruikan. Shruikan of the Storm, Shruikan the black dragon, Shruikan Storm-Dragon._

Shruikan watched the lightning, then turned back to look at the human. He was very still now. Perhaps he was dead. But when the lightning flashed again, he suddenly convulsed, his mouth opening in a terrible scream of pain. His eyes snapped open, and the look in them had changed. There was no human in those eyes. They were the eyes of an animal in pain. An animal that was dying. But his shadow was thrown onto the wall, and it was not the shadow of a human, but that of a great dragon.

Calmness came to Shruikan then. He walked forward, his small limbs moving with a new grace and certainty, around the fire and toward the human. He stood in the pool of blood, not noticing it at all, and pressed his snout into the middle of the human's right hand, where a silver circle gleamed faintly in the firelight.

At once a burning energy rose up inside of Shruikan. It rushed through him and into the human, haloing them both in a strange black light that was like a hole in the world.

And Galbatorix felt it. It filled every part of him, red-hot, vital, wonderful. His mouth suddenly thrilled at the taste of blood and acid, his eyes opened and pierced the shadows, his mind expanded and then reformed, and he felt himself come alive once more, the pain and weakness banished by the fighting spirit of a wild dragon.

When he woke up, there was a presence in his mind. He could feel another consciousness linked to his own, and when he realised what it was, joy warmed him from end to end. He lay still, feeling safe and secure in a way he had not done for a long time, and he knew the nightmare was over. _'Laela,'_ he said mentally. _'Oh, thank gods. I had a horrible dream, Laela. I dreamed you died, and I went insane, and… Laela?'_ he stopped suddenly, confused. _'Laela, is that you?'_

There was silence, and then a mental voice said; _'Who's Laela? Are you all right, human?'_

Galbatorix sat up sharply. He was in the crypt by the black fire, and his hair was matted with blood. Instantly, reality came flooding back into his mind, crushing his joy. It had not been a dream. It was real. Laela was dead. But – but – he looked around, and saw Shruikan sitting by the fire, looking up at him. 'Hello, Shruikan,' he said blankly. 'Do you know… was that you speaking to me just now?'

The mental voice spoke again. _'You're healed!'_ it said. _'You're better! I thought you were going to die, but you're all right. Did I do that?'_

Galbatorix blinked and touched his stomach. There was a hole in his clothes, and a large bloodstain, but no pain. The injury was gone. 'I'm… I'm all right,' he said. 'It's gone. Something healed me. But… but… I don't understand…'

'_I can feel you,'_ the mental voice said. _'I can feel you in my head. What's going on, Galbatorix? What did I do?'_

Galbatorix looked at Shruikan, and realised it was his voice speaking. _'Shruikan?'_ he ventured.

Shruikan shuffled his wings. _'Yes, it's me,'_ he said. _'I don't know how I'm doing this, but…'_

Galbatorix reached toward the dragon, wide-eyed. 'Oh my gods,' he said aloud. 'It's… did you bond yourself to me, Shruikan? While I was unconscious?'

'_I don't know,'_ said Shruikan. _'I saw you dying, and… I didn't want you to die. And I saw the way you looked, and I thought… you were like me. And I didn't want you to die. And there was a feeling… like power inside me. And I gave it to you so you wouldn't die. But now you're in my head. Why are you in my head? I can feel you. I don't understand…'_ The hatchling's mind suddenly radiated fear, and Galbatorix saw him starting to huddle into his wings, whimpering.

Without thinking, he reached out and scooped Shruikan into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Once Shruikan would have tried to pull away, but now he pressed himself against Galbatorix's rags, trembling slightly.

Galbatorix shared a feeling of calmness, just as he had once done with Laela. _'It's all right,'_ he soothed. _'Calm down, Shruikan, nothing's going to hurt you.'_

Shruikan seemed comforted. _'But what's going on?'_ he said. _'What's happened to me?'_

'_We've been bonded,'_ said Galbatorix. _'We're joined together now.'_

'_What does that mean?'_

'_It means…'_ he hesitated, searching for a way to put it into words. But at the same time, he felt happy in a way such as he had not felt for a very long time, since the day when Laela was ripped out of his heart. The hole inside him where she had been was beginning to be refilled, and what it was filling with was Shruikan. He had been alone for so long, but now that time was ending. He was a rider again. Two bodies, one soul. _'We're one, you and I,'_ he said. _'Our minds, our souls, are joined. From now on we'll share thoughts and feelings. We're partners. Whatever I feel, you feel. And whatever you feel, I feel. If you get hurt, I'll feel your pain. If I'm afraid, you'll be afraid too.'_

Shruikan listened. _'Is… is that good?'_

'_It means we'll never be alone again,'_ said Galbatorix.

Morzan was with Idün up on the dragon roost when he got the first indication that something bad was happening. Leaf, who was dozing on the roost not far away, suddenly woke up, standing up with a jerky motion, his wings opening. The green dragon looked this way and that, his eyes full of fear. Idün nosed at him cautiously, trying to reassure him, but Leaf wouldn't be calmed down.

'_Carina,' _he said, letting both Idün and Morzan hear him. _'Something's happening to her. She's in danger-,'_ he broke off and let out a roar of agony. For a moment he huddled on the stone roost, one hind leg twitching, and then, without warning, he hurled himself off into space and flew away toward the city.

Morzan acted fast. He climbed onto Idün's back, and the red dragon took off after Leaf as fast as she could go.

She landed down in the street, where a crowd was beginning to gather around Leaf. Carina was there, lying on the ground, and Leaf was nosing at her, desperately trying to make her wake up. Morzan jumped down from Idün's back and ran over. Leaf let him approach, and he lifted Carina's head in his large hands, his heart pounding. There was blood on her clothes, and more blood was coming from a deep slash cut into her from her ribcage to her hip. But when Morzan called her name, her eyes fluttered open.

'Morzan,' she rasped.

'Carina, for the love of gods, what happened? Who did this?'

Carina grasped Morzan's hand. 'Morzan… heal me. Quickly. The words are…'

'I know, I know,' said Morzan. He spread his hands over Carina's wound and spoke the healing words. Red energy went to work, sealing the wound shut, but although the bleeding stopped the wound did not close completely.

Carina sighed. 'It's not… enough,' she said. 'I have to – go back to Ilirea. Proper healing. This will be enough to keep me alive until then. Listen, Morzan. It was him. He's alive. He's here, in the city.'

'Who is?' said Morzan.

'The Great Betrayer,' said Carina. 'He attacked me. Listen carefully. We had a fight, him and me. I wounded him. Badly, I think. Go after him, fast as you can. Follow the trail of blood. Catch him while he's weakened.'

'_Me?'_ said Morzan. 'Me, catch him? But…' he had never expected the prospect to frighten him so much.

'You can do it,' Carina urged. 'I trust you, Morzan. You're a good fighter. Just use your head, and you'll be fine. If you catch him, it'll… you'll be rewarded for it. Richly rewarded. You know that. And it's your duty. Go, Morzan. I trust you.'

Morzan nodded and helped her up. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll try my best.'

'I know you will,' said Carina. 'Help me onto Leaf, then go.'

Morzan obeyed. Once Carina was secure in Leaf's saddle, the green dragon flew away as fast as he could go, leaving Morzan in command.

The young man hesitated, aware of all the expectant eyes fixed on him. _'Go on,'_ Idün urged softly. _'Tell them what to do.'_

Morzan pulled himself together. He drew his sword and pointed at a group of guards who had run down to help Carina. 'Look for blood,' he said. 'On the ground. See if you can find any.'

They went to work, and Morzan joined them. After a few awkward minutes of scanning the ground and using magic to banish the shadows, he found the beginning of the trail. Spots of blood led away down a side alley. Without pausing, Morzan began to follow it.

The trail led West, following a maze of twisting alleys and up into the rich quarter of the city, where it abruptly ended. Morzan stopped, looking around. It had become very dark. As he stood there, trying to find the trail again, a rumble of thunder came from overhead. Seconds later, jagged lightning lit up the entire street, turning everything blinding white. Morzan jerked in fright, but when the lightning flashed again, it highlighted a broken window in the back of a nearby building. Morzan ran to inspect it. There was blood around the edges of the shattered pane, and when he touched it he found it was still wet. He climbed through and into the building, doing his best to move silently. It was warm and dry inside, and absolutely silent, but he didn't dare summon up a magical light to show the way. Instead he stood by the window, moving to stand with his back to the wall to avoid being silhouetted by the next flash of lightning. That came, sure enough, and he was able to see the rug on the floor. Broken glass marked the beginning of a line of dark, glistening spots. Morzan hesitated, then followed it, holding his sword ready in one hand. Idün made mental contact with him. _'Where are you?'_

'_I think I've found him,'_ Morzan replied. _'He's inside this building…'_ he sent her an image of it.

'_Be careful, Morzan,'_ said Idün.

The trail of blood led Morzan to a small stone room. There was an open trapdoor in the middle of the floor, a smear of blood on the underside. Faint, flickering light was coming from somewhere below. Morzan gripped his sword more tightly, and began to descend the stairs as quietly as he could.

When he was very close to the bottom he stopped, peering ahead into the room. It was long and low, stone-lined, full of elaborately carved tombs, each one decorated with a life-sized statue of its occupant. There was some kind of pit in the floor, half-covered by a large slab, and on the other side of that a strange black fire burnt in the middle of the floor, a fire with neither smoke nor fuel. There was a large bloodstain on the floor by the fire, but no sign of anything living.

Morzan stood still, caught in indecision. He didn't want to enter the room. If Galbatorix was down there he was hiding, and if he attacked suddenly and caught him, Morzan, off-guard…

He reached out mentally for Idün. She was only just within range, but he informed her of the situation. _'What should I do?'_ he asked.

She hesitated before replying. _'You can't stand there forever,'_ she said. _'Run in. Quick and sudden. Take him by surprise.'_

Morzan nodded, feeling much more certain. _'All right,'_ he said.

Without waiting another moment, he charged down the stairs and into the chamber, drawing his sword back ready to strike.

The instant he emerged from the staircase, something hit him hard in the side, bowling him over. He landed awkwardly, and before he could get up the tip of a sword was thrust into his neck, hard enough to draw blood.

Morzan, panicking, looked up and saw someone he only just recognised. Galbatorix. He was filthy and dishevelled, and had a lean, hungry look to him, like a wolf. His once-handsome face was obscured by a matted black beard, and the curly mane he had taken so much pride in had been hacked off. The remains of a black robe hung from his scarred, bony frame, and he wore a pair of boots that he had wrapped in strips of leather to stop them falling to pieces. And the eyes were the worst of all. They were hollow and desperate, with a dull, lifeless look about them. But beyond that there was something… a light, an energy, something wild and hard and savage.

All of Morzan's courage deserted him. For a few moments there was silence, disturbed only by their breathing.

Morzan let his sword drop out of his hand. 'Please,' he said. 'Please don't kill me, Arren. It's me. It's Morzan. Remember me? I'm your friend. I helped you. Do you remember me, Arren? It's Morzan.'

Galbatorix blinked, and the blankness in his eyes faded. 'Morzan?' he said slowly. His voice had changed. It was deeper, rougher, lacking the light, passionate tone it had once had. It was not the voice of a boy, but a grown man.

Morzan swallowed, the cut on his neck stinging and bleeding. 'Yes, it's me,' he said. 'I came to find you. D'you remember me?'

'Of course I remember you,' said Galbatorix. The irritability in his voice sounded so normal that it did a lot to calm Morzan down.

'I'm not here to hurt you,' he said. 'I swear. I just came to help you.'

Galbatorix looked at him suspiciously. 'How did you find me? Did you follow the… I left a trail, didn't I?'

Morzan nodded cautiously.

'Damn!' Galbatorix swore. 'I should've… did anyone come with you?'

'No,' said Morzan. 'I swear. I came on my own.'

'In the ancient language,' Galbatorix said curtly. He kept casting wary glances at the stairs, but all his attention remained on Morzan.

Morzan obediently switched languages. 'I'm on my own,' he said. 'I swear, Arren. I don't want to hurt you, you're my friend. I hate the elders. You've got to believe me.'

For a long time Galbatorix said nothing. Morzan watched him, too frightened to attack him.

A long, painful silence stretched out for what felt like half an hour. Galbatorix's expression did not change. And then, quite suddenly, he withdrew his sword and put it back into its sheath. He reached down and pulled Morzan to his feet, then embraced him tightly. 'Morzan!' he cried, and his voice was suddenly that of the boy Morzan had met that day in Ellesméra so long ago. 'It's so good to see you again! Great gods, I thought you'd come here to kill me.'

Morzan was startled, but he returned the hug. When they let each other go, he looked at his old friend's face, unable to hide his pity. 'Arren,' he said. 'You've changed so much. I hardly recognise you.'

Galbatorix fingered his beard. 'I hardly recognise myself any more, Morzan,' he said dryly. 'But it's still me.'

Morzan hesitated. 'Are you… all right? I mean, when I saw you last, you were so…'

'Insane,' Galbatorix said, cutting across him. 'Yes. I know that. Losing Laela, it… it damaged me a lot. I forgot who I was for a while. When you took me out of the dungeons I was… well, you saw how I was. But I'm better now.'

'You don't _look_ better,' Morzan said honestly.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Yes, I suppose I've looked better. But when you're a fugitive you don't have much time for personal grooming. I haven't washed my damned hair in about a month. What's left of it, anyway. But what about you? What are you doing in Teirm?'

'Vrael sent me to help Carina,' said Morzan. 'After you… well, with all the civil unrest an' stuff…'

'So you've finished your training?' said Galbatorix. 'I see you've got your sword,' he added, glancing down at it.

Morzan bent to retrieve it. 'I sure have,' he said proudly, showing it to Galbatorix. It had a red blade and a silver hilt set with a large ruby. 'I called it Zar'roc. Misery.'

'That's a bit of a depressing name for a sword,' Galbatorix observed.

Morzan shrugged. 'I liked the sound of it. Anyway, that's what swords do to people, ain't it – I mean… isn't it? Makes them miserable.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I suppose that's true. Did I ever tell you what I called mine?' he touched the hilt. 'Hvítr Atganga. White Violence. Set with the diamond I found on Helgrind.'

Morzan eyed it. 'Why's it black? I thought diamonds were clear.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'What happened to Carina? Did she die?'

'No,' said Morzan. 'I got to her in time and healed her. She's gone to Ilirea for proper healing. Left me in charge. Vrael won't be happy about that.'

'Why not? You're a rider, aren't you?'

'But a human one,' said Morzan. 'Carina doesn't count; she's senior. But Vrael doesn't trust humans no more. Not even riders. He wouldn't let me finish my training. Said I had to prove myself first.'

'What?' said Galbatorix. 'Why? What did you do wrong? He doesn't know about…?'

Morzan shook his head. 'Of course not. If he knew I'd probably be in a dungeon right now. But he was angry something terrible after what you went and did to the walls in Ilirea. Blamed us for not noticing anything. That _was_ you what did it, wasn't it?'

Galbatorix snickered. 'Yes, that was me. My message to the elders.'

'What did it mean?' said Morzan. 'The spiral thing. What was it? And them pictures over the gates, what did they mean?'

'The spiral is my symbol,' said Galbatorix. 'Look,' he held out a hand, displaying the ring on his finger. Sure enough, it had the triple-spiral design. 'And the pictures over the gate were a warning. I think Vrael was smart enough to understand them.'

'What did they say?' Morzan persisted. 'I didn't get it.'

'It meant "I am watching you, and I will kill you",' said Galbatorix.

Morzan went pale. _'Kill?'_

There was no trace of amusement in Galbatorix's face. 'Revenge,' he said. 'For Laela. For what they did to me. And to so many other people. If I can, I'll kill all of them. Vrael, Oromis, Menulis… all the elders. And anyone who tries to stop me will die as well. I took a vow to do it. Once I wanted to die, but now I have that to live for.'

Morzan could see the hatred burning in his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at it, and hastily changed the subject. 'What is this place?' he asked, looking around at the chamber.

Galbatorix turned to watch the firelight flickering over the statues. 'This is my home,' he said. 'My inheritance.'

'Inheritance?' Morzan repeated. 'I don't understand. Inherited from who, Arren?'

'Please don't call me that,' said Galbatorix, in a tone of strained patience. 'Arren is the name they gave me after my real one was stolen. Arren Cardockson was a leatherworker's son who knew nothing. The person you're talking to now is Galbatorix. Galbatorix Taranisäii. This,' he went on, making a sweeping gesture that took in the stone walls, the tombs, the statues and the vault, 'Is the crypt of the Ancient House of Taranis. My house. This is where my ancestors are buried. The triple spiral you saw on Ilirea's walls is their symbol. My symbol. There. See, there?' he indicated the tomb and the statue directly behind Morzan. The statue was of a young woman with long, curly hair. 'That is my mother,' Galbatorix said softly. 'Ingë Taranisäii. I got my curly hair from her.'

Morzan ran his hands over the statue. 'But the Taranisäiis died out years ago,' he said.

'Not quite,' said Galbatorix. 'Ingë was executed when she was nineteen. But she left an illegitimate son behind. Me.'

'You said your parents were murdered,' Morzan recalled. 'When we first met.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'State sanctioned murder. They were executed the day after I was born. All my life the riders have been taking things away from me, starting from that day. They took my parents. They took my home. They took my people. They took Laela. And after that, when I was half-dead from despair, they took my freedom and my dignity as well. The only thing they haven't taken yet is my life. And I intend to keep hold of that for as long as I can. And they will pay. If I never do anything else in my life, I'll make them pay.'

'You can't _kill_ them,' said Morzan. 'You can't!'

Galbatorix laughed a cold, crazed, savage laugh. 'Can't I? Can't I, Morzan?'

That was when Morzan acted. He pulled back one brawny arm, and punched Galbatorix hard on the chin. Caught off-guard, Galbatorix toppled backward, thumping into the tomb behind him and half-collapsing against it. Morzan took his opportunity. He held his hands out and unleashed his magic, striking straight into Galbatorix's head with it, as fast and powerfully as he could. It got past his mental defences before he could summon them, and disabled his magic and psychic powers, and the next moment Morzan was on him, snapping a pair of heavy manacles shut around his wrists.

Galbatorix looked blankly at them, then at Morzan. 'You cunning bastard,' he said softly.

Morzan straightened up. 'I'm sorry, Galbatorix,' he said. 'But I don't have any choice.'

There was a thump from the stairs, and a dozen armed men burst into the chamber. They were on Galbatorix in an instant, hauling him to his feet and taking White Violence away from him. He made no attempt to resist. His eyes were on Morzan, and instead of looking angry he had a terrible, wounded expression on his face.

'I'm sorry,' Morzan said again. To the soldiers he said; 'Search the room.'

They obeyed, nervously skirting around the fire but checking in every nook and cranny. Two of them peered into the half-open vault. 'Can't see properly,' one of them muttered, straightening up. 'Someone get me a torch.'

A fellow soldier supplied him with one, and the man thrust it into the vault, lighting its interior. Seconds later he swore and backed away, and a small, pitch-black demon burst out of the pit in the floor. Everyone jerked back in fright, and the creature – which, Morzan now saw, was a dragon hatchling – crouched at the edge of the vault's entrance, shoulders hunched in readiness to spring, hissing and snarling.

The soldiers were frozen in astonishment and fear. Morzan, with rather more presence of mind, said; 'Someone grab it. Go on, it's too small to be dangerous.'

Two soldiers advanced, albeit hesitantly.

But Galbatorix took advantage of the momentary distraction. He broke free of his guards and launched himself at them, shouting; 'Run, Shruikan, run!'

The two soldiers turned to face this new threat, and Galbatorix attacked them. He locked his manacled hands around the throat of one of them and twisted, breaking the man's neck. Before he had even begun to fall he had punched the other in the face. Then the others closed in. As Galbatorix went down under the mass of enemies, Shruikan took the chance that was given to him. He slipped between a soldier's legs and ran for the stairs. Morzan went in pursuit, but Shruikan bounded away, his wings opening to launch him into the air. He flew up through the trapdoor and into the deserted halls of the old house, flitting desperately this way and that until he found a window. He perched on the sill, scrabbling at the glass. Morzan ran at him, but he was too slow. Shruikan saw him coming, and bashed his head against the window. His snout broke the glass and he climbed through the hole, forcing his way through it. His wings caught, but he folded them backward and with one last kick he was through. Ignoring the tears in his white wing membranes, he flew up and away into the stormy sky, his black scales melding into the darkness until he had vanished as completely as Galbatorix had once done.

Morzan watched him go and turned away. He was in time to see the soldiers drag the struggling Galbatorix out through the trapdoor and into the stone room.

'What shall we do, my Lord?' one asked.

Morzan put Zar'roc back into its sheath. 'Take him to the castle,' he said. 'Put him in a cell. Chain him securely. Don't take any chances.'

'Yes, my Lord,' the soldier said.

As he and his comrades departed, Galbatorix kept his eyes on Morzan. 'You betrayed me!' he shouted, again and again. 'You betrayed me!' he cried out as a soldier brutally thumped him in the stomach.

Morzan couldn't bear to watch. He turned away, his heart leaden.

'_What happened?'_ Idün asked him. _'Did you get him?'_

'_Yes, Idün. We caught him.'_

'_Why so sad, then?'_ said Idün. _'This is good news! Vrael will be delighted. He'll give you everything you want now. Maybe he'll even give you a city to rule.'_

Morzan said nothing. But when he tried to imagine Vrael's reaction to what he had done, and all the honours and rewards he would receive, he felt nothing but misery.


	28. The Winds of Change

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Winds of Change

Later that night, Morzan sat in the office where Galbatorix had once worked and laboriously composed a letter to Vrael. Writing wasn't one of his strengths; his big rough fingers weren't suited to holding a quill, and his lettering was clumsy. And he never quite knew how to phrase things. But he persevered, and eventually completed the letter. It said, simply; "_To my Lord Vrael. I have captured the fugitive Galbatorix Taranisäii and am currently holding him in the cells. What would you have me do with him? Signed, Morzan Drasborn, Governor of Teirm._"

He read over it a couple of times, and once he was satisfied with it he folded and sealed it with the signet ring he'd been given. Once he had put it into the bag of messages bound for Ilirea, he sat back in his chair and tried to reassure himself that everything would be fine. He'd done what was asked of him. The Great Betrayer was in captivity, and as soon as he had been executed the elders would have nothing to be afraid of any more. And it would be all thanks to him, Morzan. Him, Morzan. Supposedly too stupid to ever go anywhere in life, the one people laughed at and called slow. He remembered elder Oromis' cold mockery. Big, blundering Morzan. Too thick-headed, too incompetent, too _human._

Human. That was the thing Oromis had returned to most often. You're too human. You have no grace, no beauty, no wit. Too human.

Morzan's big hands clenched. Suddenly he found himself remembering that night, months ago, when he and Brom had defied their masters and helped their friend to escape the awful fate that awaited him. He remembered the way Galbatorix had looked at him, just before he vanished into the night. _Stay human,_ he'd said. _Don't become like them. Don't be an elf. Stay human. Always be human._

Be human.

When Morzan had first become a rider, he had thought it would mean that he would be respected. And he was, in a way. But ever since that day, he now saw, the other riders, the ones who had trained him, had been seeking to destroy something fundamental inside him. They had been trying to remove his humanity and make him become an elf. Once he would not have seen anything wrong with it, but now… he thought of the elves he knew, and suddenly felt disgusted. They were so… empty. Soulless. Their faces were beautiful, but all so eerily similar. Morzan didn't know what he believed any more. But he did know that he didn't want to be like that. And he couldn't stop thinking about Galbatorix and the shocked betrayal in his face as he was taken away by the guards.

Morzan stood up jerkily. Idün had been observing his thoughts, and now she said; _'Where are you going, Morzan?'_

'_I'm going to talk to him,'_ said Morzan, making for the door.

Idün was wary. _'You should be careful. Don't forget what he is.'_

'_I'm just going to talk to him,'_ said Morzan. _'There's no harm in just talking. I want to ask him some questions. And… I just want to see if he's all right.'_

That surprised him a little. But when he thought about it he found that he was, in fact, concerned for his former friend. Galbatorix must know what lay in store for him, and Morzan couldn't imagine what that must be like.

He found Galbatorix in his cell. There were heavy manacles chaining his wrists to his waist that prevented him from lifting his arms. He was pacing back and forth on the other side of the bars, head low, like a great cat in a cage. Morzan noticed that his posture had changed; his shoulders hunched forward slightly and he moved with a kind of stalking, predatory tread which made him more like a big cat than ever.

When Morzan approached from the outside, he stopped and came closer, staring at him silently.

Morzan stood well back from the bars, his hand on Zar'roc's hilt. 'Hello,' he said cautiously.

Galbatorix watched him for a moment. 'Hello, Morzan,' he said evenly. 'I suppose congratulations are in order. You got me. You caught the Great Betrayer.'

'Look, I didn't want to do it,' said Morzan. 'I had to.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'I understand. You're still bound by the oaths they made you take. I should have remembered that, but seeing a friendly face again after so long…' he sighed and fiddled with the manacles on his wrists, trying to stop them from chafing.

'I can't just break oaths like you do,' said Morzan, a little more coldly. 'And I can't let you go free. Not after what you've done.'

'I wouldn't trouble myself about it if I were you,' said Galbatorix. 'After all… considering everyone I ever cared about either died or turned on me, I hardly noticed it this time. And I'm sure you'll be rewarded for your trouble. Vrael won't be happy. He would have wanted to catch me himself, but instead the one who managed it was a lowly human. And not even a fully-trained one. He'll have a hard time swallowing _that.'_ He snickered nastily.

'It's not about being rewarded,' said Morzan.

'Of course it isn't,' said Galbatorix. 'But that's a perk, isn't it? I'm sure this filthy bastard blood of mine could buy you plenty of favours. Gold, jewels, property, maybe even a place on the coucil of elders one day. Anything you could possibly want. And once you've put my head on a spike and sent my heart to Ilirea in a box for Vrael to gloat over, it'll all be yours. No more nonsense about not trusting you. You'll be a rider good and proper. The kind they like. With pointy ears.'

Morzan shifted uncomfortably.

'I know you meant part of what you said,' Galbatorix said softly. 'You said it in the ancient language. You hate the elders just like I do. Why?'

Morzan didn't reply.

'If you won't tell me that, at least tell me this,' said Galbatorix. 'What happened to my foster parents? I went back to my old home, and it was gone. Burnt down. What happened? Are they all right?'

'They're dead,' said Morzan. 'I'm sorry.'

Galbatorix showed no reaction. 'How?'

'They were murdered by their neighbours after you disappeared. They… they wanted the bounty on your head and they thought your foster parents were hiding you. Carina had already questioned them. They knew nothing. But their neighbours didn't believe it. Carina told me what happened. They were both beaten and hanged. And then someone set the house on fire a few weeks later. It burnt to the ground. We never caught the people who did it.'

Galbatorix shuddered and stared blankly at the floor, his chains clinking.

'I'm sorry,' Morzan said again.

Galbatorix looked up at him. 'Well,' he said a little hoarsely. 'That's how it is, isn't it? Whever I go, people die. Story of my life. And it looks like I'll be next. Tell me, Morzan, do you think people can be born cursed? Because I was. First my real parents, then Laela, and now this.'

Morzan hestitated. 'Can you tell me what really happened to you?' he asked. 'How did Laela die? No-one seems to know. Why were you all the way out North?'

Galbatorix looked at him. 'You don't know?' he said.

'No,' said Morzan. 'They're saying… well, you and Lanethial and someone else went out North on some adventure or other, and you got attacked by urgals, and Laela and the others died, but you escaped.'

Galbatorix gaped at him. _'What?'_

'That's what they're saying,' said Morzan. 'That's the story the elders put about. They said you came back to Ilirea and demanded another dragon, then turned violent when they said no and ran away. But it's not true. I know it's not true. You wouldn't be stupid enough to go into urgal territory and let them catch you off-guard. And why would you have been with Lanethial or that other rider, whatshername? You _hated_ Lanethial, and the other rider was older than you so you wouldn't have known her. And if it was just an accident, why did the elders lock you up like that and try to kill you? It doesn't make any sense. So what happened?'

Galbatorix was furious. '_Lies!'_ he almost shouted, and slammed his fist into the bars, wincing at the pain. He turned away and began to pace once more, mouthing dark elvish curses and wrenching at his chains.

Morzan watched him. He hadn't expected such a violent response, and it frightened him. But he waited until Galbatorix calmed down a little and returned to his spot on the other side of the bars.

'Lies,' he said again. 'All lies. Urgals? Urgals, kill Laela? No. It was Vrael's fault. Him and the other elders.' He began to speak in the ancient language. 'I was in the North because I ran away. Flell betrayed me. She told the elders I raped her. It was a lie. They were going to kill me. Didn't Brom tell you? He came to warn me, and Laela and I ran away. We went North to hide, but Vrael sent Lanethial after us. Him and the other rider. They killed Laela. Killed her. Shot her full of arrows. Tore her out of me.' He spoke quickly and jerkily, all his usual eloquence completely absent. 'But I survived. I killed them. Killed them both, right there. Left them dead there in the snow with Laela and walked back, trying to get home. Couldn't remember who I was. All I knew was pain. And they caught me and took me to Ilirea in chains. If you and Brom hadn't saved me, I'd be dead now. And now here I am, locked up again. And soon I'll die. You've killed me, Morzan. But there's hardly anything left of me to kill.'

He fell silent and turned away, and Morzan stared at him in shock.

After a long silence, Morzan said; 'But… why didn't… if Flell was lying, why didn't you tell them so in the ancient language? Why didn't they make her speak it?'

Galbatorix sneered. 'Why bother? It's so much easier to ignore those possibilities when you've already made up your mind about something. They hated me and they wanted to get rid of me, and with Flell telling those lies about me, it was so easy to do. Why would they want to know the truth if the truth isn't what they want to hear? No.' He sighed.

'But you can't kill them,' said Morzan.

'Why not?' said Galbatorix. 'Are you that blind, Morzan? No. You're not. And you're not stupid, either. You know about them. You know what they're like. What they do. You've read the records, haven't you? And you've seen things. I know you have.'

Morzan was silent.

'What did you see?' Galbatorix persisted. 'Tell me what you saw, Morzan. You hate the elders because of what you saw. So tell me… what is it?'

'I…' Morzan trailed off, visibly distressed. 'I can't.'

Galbatorix threw him a disgusted look. 'Fine. But sooner or later you're going to have to stop closing your eyes to the truth.' He shuffled away, hampered by his chains, and sat down on the bench in his cell.

Morzan turned to leave.

'Oh, Morzan?'

'Yes? What?'

'Could you do me a favour?'

'If I can,' Morzan said cautiously.

'Could I have a bath and a new robe, please? When they drag me to the gibbet, I'd rather not let people see me like this. If it's all the same to you.'

Morzan nodded. 'I'll see to it,' he said.

True to his word, on the following day Morzan had a tub of water and soap sent to Galbatorix's cell, along with a comb. Galbatorix had asked for a razor, but was denied one lest he use it to take his own life. But Morzan had a new black robe and trousers made for him, and took the trouble to ask for a specific design first out of sympathy to his former friend. Later, when he visited Galbatorix again, he found him looking much neater, his hair washed and combed. He'd managed to talk someone into giving him some scissors and had made an attempt to style his hair and beard, which had worked surprisingly well. The rags he'd worn before lay in a corner, and he was clad in the new robe, which did something to conceal how thin and worn he was. But he was also still manacled.

'Are you feeling better now?' Morzan enquired.

'Yes, thankyou,' said Galbatorix. 'It was very decent of you to do that, Morzan.'

Morzan shrugged. 'It's not much, but it was the best I could do for you. And… well, I still think of you as a friend, you know.'

Galbatorix showed a hint of surprise at that. 'Really?'

Morzan nodded. 'You an' Brom always just took me as I am. You never made me feel stupid. Flell used to tease me, but you never did.' He shook his head, suddenly sad. 'I never thought it'd turn out like this. Remember how happy we were in Ellesméra? All just kids. And now it's like this.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Yes… Flell, losing her child. Me, turning into this sorry excuse for a human being and ending up behind bars. And you. You didn't escape either, did you? In fact, I think you're more of a victim than any of us.'

Morzan went cold. 'What d'you mean?'

'I think you know,' said Galbatorix, fixing him with a terrible, knowing stare.

After that Morzan stayed away from him. He threw himself into his duties as governor, trying his hardest to prove himself. It was tougher than he had expected, but he welcomed it. It was enough to distract him from his troubles, and he worked himself to exhaustion every day. But Galbatorix's presence remained at the back of his mind all the time, and his words stayed with him and would not leave him alone. _You're more of a victim than any of us. You know, don't you, Morzan? You know._

Still Morzan stayed away. He couldn't bear the accusation that had been in Galbatorix's eyes. He told himself constantly that he had done the right thing, but nothing could make him believe it. And although he stayed away, he made sure that Galbatorix was well treated; ordering the guards to provide him with plenty of good food and blankets, and to make sure he had water to wash in whenever he asked for it, and to speak politely to him. It meant that, ironically, Galbatorix's time in this new prison was actually more comfortable than that spent in the crypt.

Months passed, and Morzan waited for the reply from Ilirea. When it finally arrived, he went down to the cells to break the news to Galbatorix personally.

Galbatorix was sitting down in his cell, reading a book, and greeted Morzan politely enough. He was looking a lot healthier now. He'd put some weight back on and was clean and fairly well-groomed. His hair was starting to grow back, and his face looked a little less hollow. 'So,' he said. 'What's the news?'

Morzan unfolded the letter. 'It's from Vrael. It says… "We are pleased to hear of your success. Carina has made a full recovery and has told us of your actions. You are hereby recalled to Ilirea where you will be given the opportunity to name your reward. Your orders regarding the captured traitor are to execute immediately in a manner you see fit."'

Galbatorix buried his face in his hands.

'So that's how it is,' said Morzan, with the strange feeling that his voice was coming from somewhere far away. 'I'm sorry, Galbatorix. They're building the gibbet outside now. We'll do it privately. Away from the crowds. I'll… I'll make sure it's quick. I promise.'

Galbatorix let out a long, weary sigh. 'Writing materials,' he said.

'What?' said Morzan.

'Bring me writing materials,' said Galbatorix. 'Paper, ink, and a quill. I have something I want to write. Please just do this for me. As a last request. If you won't let me go, then just do that for me.'

His voice was astonishingly calm, and Morzan marvelled that he could accept his fate so quietly. 'Of course I will,' he said. 'I'll be back in a few minutes.'

True to his word, he brought quills, ink and a sheaf of paper and passed them through the bars. Galbatorix took them. 'Thankyou,' he said.

Morzan watched him for a moment as he settled down to begin writing, and then silently left.

Alone in his cell, Galbatorix selected a piece of paper and dipped a quill into the ink. He paused, sighed, and began to write.

_Skade,_

_By the time you read this, I will be dead. I am sorry that I broke my promise to you that I would stay alive for you. If I could have a single wish granted right now, it would be to see you again one last time. But I have no more time. In the morning they will drag me out to the gibbet and make an end to me. If I'm lucky it will be quick, but I don't seem to have any luck any more. In fact I'm tempted to say that I've never had anything but bad luck since the day I was born. But that would be a lie. Because, even though everything else has been a disaster for me, I met you, and that was a blessing that would make a hundred years of tragedy and despair worthwhile. I love you, Skade. That is all I have left, and it is enough to know that I will go to the gibbet with that precious treasure in my heart where they can never find it or take it away from me. I'm going to ask my friend Morzan to find you and give this letter to you. Don't blame him for what happened to me. The elders have him bound by oaths of loyalty that would kill him if he broke them. He didn't have any choice, but he did his best to make these last few days of my life comfortable._

_I hope you're all right and that you found your father, and that you don't grieve for me any more than I deserve. I always tried to do the right thing, and at least I can hope that some small part of me will live on inside you. Even though people will curse my memory, you touched something inside me that I didn't know was there before, and it's something that gives me hope that perhaps, after all, I'm not as cursed as I once thought._

_I love you, Skade. With all my heart._

_Galbatorix Taranisäii._

When he was finished he folded the letter and cradled it to his chest, his heart aching with fear and loneliness. _Skade._ He longed for her to be there, to take him in her arms and tell him everything would be all right… even though it wouldn't. He wanted to see her golden eyes looking into his, feel her hands in his hair and her warm body pressed against him. He wanted to feel her love all about him, strong and fierce, and wild, like the spicy scent of her silver hair. But she was gone, and he knew he would never see her again. Like his parents. Like Flell. Like Laela. And Shruikan, too, who he had barely begun to know. His heart screamed out for them, but they were not there. He was alone, and death was coming for him.

Alone…

Morzan was also alone. He paced in his bedchamber, unable to sleep, tormented by guilt. It would be dawn in a few hours. This would be Galbatorix's last night on earth. And Morzan would be responsible for his death. Even though he knew he was innocent.

'_What am I going to do?'_ he asked Idün, again and again.

The red dragon's sympathetic presence did only a little to comfort him. _'You can't do anything, Morzan,'_ she said softly. _'You can't go against your oath, you know that.'_

'_But it's not fair!'_ Morzan burst out. _'He's my _friend!_ How can I let this happen to him? After so many awful things have already happened to him, and… it's not _fair._ They can't make me do this.'_

'_But you have to,'_ said Idün. _'You're a rider. Duty comes first, even before friendship.'_

But Morzan could not shake off the feeling that, if he let Galbatorix die, he would be damned forever. He halted suddenly. _'No. It's not right. I can't let it happen. I need help.'_

'_From who?'_

'_I'm going to ask Galbatorix,'_ said Morzan. _'He knows things. Everyone says so. He knows secret things. I'll ask him. Maybe he can help me. And then I can help him.'_

'_Then go,'_ said Idün. _'But be careful. You're on dangerous ground, Morzan.'_

But Morzan shook off his doubts and left the room. He went straight to the dungeons and along the corridor to Galbatorix's cell, and there he saw something that shocked him.

Galbatorix was huddled in a corner of his cell, his face in his hands, and to his utter disbelief Morzan realised he realised that his friend was doing something that he had never, ever imagined him doing.

Galbatorix was crying. His shoulders were shaking, and soft, broken sobs disturbed the echoing silence of the dungeon.

Morzan stood stupidly and watched him, feeling as if the ground had suddenly vanished from beneath him. Galbatorix, the most frighteningly calm and collected person he had ever met, was in tears. It was the world turned upside down.

But Morzan knew there was no time to waste. 'Hey,' he said softly. 'It's me.'

Galbatorix looked up sharply. There were tears on his face and his eyes were red-rimmed, but his gaze was still steady. 'Morzan,' he said tonelessly.

Morzan approached the bars, this time going as close as he could. 'Are you… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… are you all right?'

Galbatorix shuddered and twined his fingers into his hair, drawing himself back into the corner and wrapping his arms around his knees. 'I don't want to die,' he said huskily. 'I just… I'm scared, Morzan. I thought… you know, once… out there… somewhere in the wild, I tried to hang myself. There's still a mark on my neck. But now it's just… I'm so frightened. What if they're right, Morzan? What if you really do become nothing after you die? What if it's just blackness and emptiness? I don't want to go there, I don't want to be nothing. I want to be with Laela again, but if… if she's nothing now… I can't bear it, Morzan. There's just nothing but darkness everywhere, and so much pain… and Shruikan. He's going to feel me die, Morzan, he's going to feel it, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. He'll feel me die, just like I felt Laela die, and it'll be all my fault…'

'Shruikan?' said Morzan. 'The black dragon that was with you, is that who you mean?'

Galbatorix nodded distractedly. 'He bonded himself to me. Just before you found me. I was dying from where Carina stabbed me, but Shruikan bonded himself to me and saved my life. The poor little thing, he'd never seen the sky in his life and I kept him prisoner down there so he'd be safe, and he didn't trust me, but he saved me, and now… now he's going to feel what it's like to have his heart torn out of him. Just… right here.' He touched his chest, over his heart. 'It feels like… like a hundred years of torture, all at once. And afterwards you hurt so much inside you can't even think. And Shruikan… it'll kill him. Gods, Morzan, why me? What did I do wrong? I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I bring disaster wherever I go. I didn't want to be a destroyer, but I've already destroyed so much. Even you, Morzan, even you. Because of me you'll spend the rest of your life knowing you sent an innocent man to his death.'

Morzan gripped the bars, his head bowed with shame. 'It's wrong,' he said in a gruff voice. 'All wrong. What the elders did to you, what Vrael did… it was evil. I hate them. I hate them all for what they did to you. I don't _want_ to do it, but they're forcing me to. Gods help me, Galbatorix, what can I do?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'I don't know, Morzan. I just don't know.'

'Galbatorix, please help me,' said Morzan. 'I'm begging you.'

'I can't help you,' Galbatorix said bitterly. 'I can't even help myself.'

'They say you know things,' said Morzan. 'Things about magic no-one else knows. Do you know… is there a way to break an oath in the ancient language? You've done it. Everyone knows you did. You swore an oath, same as me, but you broke it and you're still alive. How? Can I do it too?'

Galbatorix was silent for a while, thinking. 'There is a way,' he said at length. 'I've never done it, but… there's three ways I know of.'

'Tell me,' Morzan urged.

'The first is to have the person you swore the oath to release you,' said Galbatorix. 'The second is… if you swear _by_ something, but that thing is destroyed, your oath becomes invalid. And if you swear something on a condition but that condition is broken, then the oath is destroyed. And the last way is by magic. There's a spell I know that can set you free. But I'd need my magic back to do it.'

'Tell me the spell,' said Morzan. 'I'll do it myself.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'It's not a spell just anyone can use,' he said. 'Only I have the power to make it work. If anyone else tried it, nothing would happen. But why do you want it anyway, Morzan? If you broke your oath you'd be an outcast forever. You'd be hunted down and then killed. Just like me.'

Morzan said nothing. He stood still, his heavy shoulders and powerful frame feeling weak and useless, his big hands opening and closing compulsively. He stared blankly at the gedwëy ignaesia on his palm, then turned and walked away without a word.

Galbatorix sat in silence for a long time after Morzan's departure. It was gone midnight, and the moon had risen outside the small barred window in his cell. He moved to sit in the shaft of silvery light, and closed his eyes, letting it touch his face.

A strange calm filled him then, and, scarcely realising what he was doing, he began to whisper the dark elvish funeral rites. _'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then to be blown away by a breeze in the night to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the soul of Galbatorix Taranisäii of Teirm, last of his race. May he look down from the stars and may his wisdom embrace us. This I ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day forth…'_ his voice trailed off and he bowed his head, letting the moonlight form itself into an image of a white dragon in his mind. 'I'm coming, Laela,' he mumbled.

After that he dozed, vague images of Laela flitting through his dreams. Even now he could not let her go.

He was woken up abruptly by a loud clank of metal, and raised his head sharply. It was still night, but the moon illuminated a bulky figure standing on the other side of the bars.

'It's me,' a voice hissed. 'Morzan. Come here, quick.'

Galbatorix stood up, his lithe frame unfolding in the gloom, and stepped forward to meet his friend. Morzan was warmly dressed and had Zar'roc on his back. His face was very pale, but Galbatorix hardly noticed any of that when he saw what was in his hands. It was a rider's sword with a long white blade and a silver hilt. A sword he knew very well.

Morzan held out White Violence. 'Here,' he said. 'Take it. We're leaving.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'What? I don't understand.'

'Take it!' Morzan hissed again. 'Quickly, we haven't got any time to waste.'

Galbatorix held his hands out and accepted the sword, grasping it awkwardly by the hilt. His wrists were still chained together.

Morzan took a key from his belt and unlocked the door. He stepped into the cell and drew Zar'roc. 'Hold out your hands,' he commanded.

Galbatorix obeyed. Morzan raised Zar'roc, and he turned his head away and braced himself. There was a faint metallic thump, and the chain linking his wrists to his waist suddenly went slack.

Morzan put Zar'roc back into its sheath. 'Come on,' he said. 'Take whatever you want and let's go.'

Galbatorix knew better than to waste time asking questions. He gathered up a few odd items and stuffed them into his pockets. White Violence was still in its sheath, the straps dangling from it. He refastened them around his shoulders, securing the weapon, and silently followed Morzan out of the cell. Morzan locked the door behind them and picked up a pair of heavy packs from the corridor, handing one to Galbatorix.

Galbatorix slung it on his back and looked to Morzan, who hurried off down the corridor, gesturing at him to follow.

Moving with surprisingly little noise given his bulk, the young rider led Galbatorix out of the castle and into the open air. They emerged in a deserted courtyard, and there Galbatorix breathed in deeply, savouring the night air. He looked at Morzan, utterly astonished. 'Why?'

Morzan shook his head. 'You're my friend, Galbatorix,' he said. 'If I'd killed you, I would've made a monster out of myself. Idün's waiting outside the city. We're going to run away. Go into hiding somewhere. I'm going to… I've decided to join you.'

Galbatorix blinked. '_Join_ me?'

Morzan nodded. 'Yes, yes, just like that,' he said feverishly. 'I'm your follower now. I'll do whatever you ask me to do. Look, see?' he indicated his ears. They were no longer pointed, and the tops were ragged, crusted with dried blood. 'I cut the tips off my ears, just like you. They'll never make an elf out of me. You're not alone any more, Galbatorix. You've got me, and Idün too. We'll fight beside you, and the elders will pay. I swear it.' He laid a hand on his broad chest and repeated, 'I swear it.'

Galbatorix stared at him. 'Do you really mean that?'

'Yes,' said Morzan. He held out a hand and spoke a string of words in the ancient language, and his magic dissolved the mental shackles in Galbatorix's head. Galbatorix blinked and rubbed his forehead, and Morzan knelt before him. 'Only set me free of my oath, and I'll take another oath,' he said, in the low fervent tones of a fanatic. 'And this time I'll swear to be loyal to you, Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix hesitated for only a few seconds. Then he held his hand out over Morzan's head and began to speak a dark elvish spell. The magic went to work, and he stood still, letting it drain the energy out of him. When it was done he lifted Morzan to his feet and said; 'There. You're free.'

'I know,' said Morzan, a gleam in his eyes. 'I could feel it. You set me free. And now I'll repay you.' He placed a hand on his chest and began to speak in the ancient language. 'I swear to serve you, Galbatorix Taranisäii,' he intoned. 'I will do your bidding at any cost, until I die or until you release me. I swear it by my heart, my soul and my blood.'

'You didn't have to do that,' said Galbatorix.

Morzan shook his head. 'But I did it anyway. Let's go.'

'Not yet,' said Galbatorix. 'There's a few places I want to visit first, if you don't mind.'

'Anything you say,' said Morzan.

Galbatorix nodded and loped away into the shadows. Morzan followed, and the two of them moved through the city in near-silence. Galbatorix knew exactly where he wanted to go. His despair was gone, and now a sense of calm and confidence was filling him. He was free. Better than free. He was no longer alone. Morzan had saved him for a second time, and would stay with him and help him fight.

And there would be others. He knew it. Others would come to him. Others who knew the truth as Morzan did. Others who wanted to be released from their vows and fight for justice. His quest to avenge Laela was not in vain.

They visited three places in the city that night. Morzan guided them to the newly-built wooden platform in the old training yard in the castle, where Galbatorix would have been put to death. There he gave Galbatorix a knife and kept watch while he climbed up onto the platform and carved a triple-spiral into the wood.

Galbatorix jumped down and gave Morzan back his knife. As the two of them made an exit, Morzan said; 'Why'd you do that?'

'I like to let people know when I've been somewhere,' Galbatorix answered. 'So they won't forget.'

Morzan didn't fully understand that, but he followed his new master through the streets, marvelling at how confidently he moved; sliding in and out of the shadows and making the darkened city his own. They came to a stop somewhere in the lower end of the city, where the more modest traders' houses were. There was a gap in the row of homes there, where a heap of rubble and charcoal were all that remained of what, Morzan realised, had once been the house Galbatorix grew up in.

Galbatorix climbed up onto the top of the heap, then bent and scratched at the ashes, apparently looking for something. He eventually found whatever it was, and began to dig. After a few moments he straightened up, holding a number of objects which he stowed away inside his robe. Then, standing there, his dark form sillhouetted against the half-moon, he began to mutter what sounded like some kind of ritual verse. His voice was low and Morzan only caught snatches of what he said. _'…earth born… fire forged… wind… silver… flowers.'_ When he was done he had done he spread his right hand over the rubble and began to weave some kind of spell. Black energy moved over the shattered beams and crumbled bricks, and as Morzan watched, something moved. Something small and pale, and writhing, something that was quickly joined by dozens of others – thin, white, wormlike _things._ They thrust their way up out of the remains of the house and grew longer and longer, snaking over the heap up toward where Galbatorix stood. And as they grew they branched, and Morzan realised that they were plants.

The vines grew unnaturally fast, spreading over the ruins and covering it with fresh green leaves. Flowers budded and opened, glowing white in the moonlight, and when the movement finally stopped Galbatorix was surrounded by the blooms. He jumped down from his perch and rejoined Morzan. He bent and picked a couple of the magical flowers, and then straightened up. 'Let's go,' he said in a low voice.

By the time they reached the last place Galbatorix wanted to visit, it was nearly dawn. Morzan was nervous, but Galbatorix was calm. 'It's here,' he said, indicating a large building. Morzan, inspecting it, realised that it was the House of Taranis, its windows now boarded up.

Galbatorix opened a back door with magic, and they entered the house, passing through its cold halls and to the trapdoor, which still hung open, down into the crypts. There Galbatorix summoned up a magical light, illuminating the carved faces of his ancestors. Ignoring Morzan for the moment, he strode along the length of the chamber, pausing by each statue and muttering its name. The mess left by the fight had been cleaned up, and no trace of his old camp remained. Galbatorix returned to the entrance, and stood by the tomb of Ingë Taranisäii, head bowed. 'These are for you, Mother,' he said, and laid the flowers on the statue. 'A gift from your son. I'll remember you, and I'll honour you. I promise.'

Then he turned away. 'Only one last thing to do,' he said to Morzan. He stepped back a few paces and held out a hand. '_Reisa.'_

There was a grating noise, and the stone slab that sealed the vault slowly lifted. Galbatorix set the slab down and jumped down into the pit beneath. The chests were still there, and he began to open them. 'Here, help me,' he said to Morzan.

Morzan joined him, and the two of them began to fill their pockets with treasure. Galbatorix suggested taking mostly jewels, which were lighter, but Morzan couldn't resist picking up a large gold ring and putting it on.

Galbatorix grinned at him. 'Keep it,' he said.

Once they had taken all they could carry, they closed the chests and climbed out of the vault. Galbatorix sealed it shut again, and they left the crypt without a backward glance.

When they reached the outside air again and re-locked the door, the sun was starting to come up. The shadows were slowly turning grey, and there was a hint of pink and yellow on the horizon. Without stopping to confer, Galbatorix and Morzan bolted. They ran through the streets of Teirm, avoiding any early risers, their breath misting in the cold air. Both were trained in the art of moving quietly, neither one panicked or acted incautiously. They left the city and vanished into the woods beyond. Safe.

Idün was waiting for them. She ran to meet Morzan, nuzzling him in the shoulder. He embraced her and stroked her neck, neither saying a word nor needing to.

Galbatorix watched them, feeling a deep ache in his chest. He reached out mentally, searching for Shruikan. And he found him. The black dragon's mind was full of fear, but his reaction to Galbatorix's mental contact was familiar and joyful. _'Galbatorix! You're alive! I tried to find you for so long… where are you?'_

Galbatorix sent him an image of the spot. _'I'm safe,' _he said. _'Morzan's helping us now. Come quickly, Shruikan. We're getting out of here.'_

Morzan turned to him. 'Come on,' he said. 'Get on Idün's back. We can't stick around. They'll have realised you're gone by now. But they'll be a little slow to react without me there to tell 'em what to do.' He snickered at the thought.

Galbatorix nodded. 'But we should stay on the ground for little while,' he said. 'Until we're out of sight. We don't want anyone to see us in the air.'

Idün refolded her wings. _'A sensible suggestion,'_ she said. _'Then let's go.'_ The red dragon lumbered away, carefully avoiding the trees. Galbatorix and Morzan walked on either side of her shoulders, and the three of them made their escape as the sun rose. Galbatorix kept mental contact with Shruikan, guiding him as well as he could. _'Are you all right?'_ he asked.

'_I'm not hurt,'_ said Shruikan. _'I kept hidden, like you said I should. I came out at night so no-one would see me. There's plenty to catch out here. I wanted to… I nearly left. I kept wanting to leave. But I didn't.'_

They came to a stop once they were well away from the city, hiding among a rock formation at the edge of the Spine to rest. Idün and Morzan wanted to take to the air and make good their escape, but Galbatorix insisted on waiting for Shruikan.

They waited for some time, while the sun slowly climbed in the sky, and then a shadow suddenly fell across them. Galbatorix looked up, and there was Shruikan, large as life, perched on the rock above and looking down calmly through his silver eyes. He had grown a lot over the last few months, and was now about the size of a donkey. He had filled out, his chest and shoulders were broad and heavy, indicating a powerful adult to come. His wings were wide and well-shaped, their membranes pure white, but the rest of him was as black as ever. Black as the night sky. Black as a shadow. Black as Galbatorix's glittering eyes.

'Shruikan!' Galbatorix cried. 'There you are!'

Shruikan paused, then jumped down, catching himself with his wings and landing gracefully by Galbatorix's side. There was a certain wariness about the way he carried himself, and he was careful to keep away from Morzan and Idün, both of whom drew back nervously at the sight of him… but when Galbatorix reached out to touch him the black dragon put his head on one side and let him scratch his horns.

'A black dragon,' Idün rasped. 'Why didn't you say something sooner?'

Galbatorix and Shruikan looked at her, their eyes absolutely identical in expression. 'Shruikan is my partner,' Galbatorix said coldly. 'He bonded himself to me just as Laela did once. And if you'll accept me, you'll accept him. He saved my life.'

Morzan hesitated, then stepped forward, holding out a hand toward Shruikan. The black dragon withdrew, hissing, but Morzan stopped and bowed. 'Shruikan,' he said. 'My name is Morzan Drasborn, and it's an honour to meet you.'

Shruikan glanced at Galbatorix, and then lowered his snout to Morzan, saying nothing.

'Shruikan hasn't spent much time among other people,' said Galbatorix. 'And he's a little wild. Aren't you, Shruikan?'

Shruikan growled softly. There was a wildness about him that other bonded dragons did not have, that was plain enough. Idün, in spite of her size and strength, had a certain gentleness in her demeanour, and a peace. She was completely relaxed around humans, especially Morzan. But Shruikan was never still. He dug his black claws into the earth and kept darting his head this way and that to watch for danger, his wings half-spread in readiness to take to the air. But the wildness and ferocity about him matched Galbatorix's predatory stance and wary eyes perfectly. Morzan, watching them, felt strangely calm. He knew that he had done what was right now. The man he had bound himself to follow was not a raving lunatic, as so many people claimed. He was a leader; the most awe-inspiring and charasmatic leader Morzan had ever seen. Here, he thought, was what he had looked for in the elders but not found. Here was the one he wanted to follow. And he would do so, with all his strength. And others would do the same. He knew it.


	29. The Message

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Message

After the reunion with Shruikan, Idün carried Galbatorix and Morzan away over the Spine. Shruikan, still too small to be ridden, followed closely. They stayed well away from inhabited areas lest they be spotted, and flew for most of the day, searching for a place to hide. The Spine itself was out of the question – lack of food and attack from wild dragons would make it far too dangerous. In the end they found a place by the sea, where there was a cave in the rock. There was good fishing there, and fruit trees further inland, and a river flowing into the sea. Everything they needed.

They settled into the cave, setting up a small camp well out of sight. It was large enough for Idün to fit in, and the red dragon claimed the back of the cave for her own, curling up on the stone floor with her wings folded neatly on her back. She laid her head on her foreclaws and slept. Very peaceful.

Shruikan stayed by Galbatorix's side as he conjured up a black fire. Morzan had brought plenty of food, and he and Galbatorix sat together and shared a simple meal.

'This is a good place,' said Galbatorix, glancing around at their new home. 'We can stay here for as long as we need to. Until Shruikan is big enough to fight. Then we'll be ready to begin.'

'What are we going to do, sir?' Morzan enquired, breaking a loaf of bread.

'You don't have to call me sir.'

Morzan shrugged and waited for him to reply.

'We'll give a signal,' said Galbatorix. He picked up a flask of water and drank deeply, meticulously wiping his mouth afterward. 'I'm going to show the elders I mean business. It'll be direct and ruthless. I'll hit them right where it hurts.'

'How?' said Morzan.

'I'm not quite sure yet,' said Galbatorix. 'But we'll have plenty of time to make plans. In the meantime I need to build up my strength again. And I can teach you a few new things about magic if you're interested.'

Morzan nodded. 'I need to brush up on my swordplay, too,' he said. 'I spent months cooped up in that castle handling nothing bigger'n a pen.'

Galbatorix grinned. 'Yes, I know what that feels like.'

They were silent for a time as they satisfied their hunger. Galbatorix broke the silence eventually. 'That was a very brave thing you did,' he said quietly. 'You saved my life, Morzan, and not for the first time. I still can't quite believe you did it.'

'I can't either,' Morzan said honestly. 'But I know it was the right thing. To hell with the elders and their bullcrap. You're my friend. Far as I'm concerned, friends come first, an' family too.'

'You could die for this, you know,' said Galbatorix.

'Not if I get them first,' Morzan said darkly, touching Zar'roc's hilt.

'But you threw so much away,' said Galbatorix. 'Everything you had. For me. They'll curse you for this. You're a traitor now, same as me.'

Morzan's face twisted. 'Screw them,' he spat, with unexpected venom. 'Take 'em and send the bloody bastards to hell, every last one of 'em. I hate them. Hate their miserable, lying guts. I've hated 'em for ages. Since before you disappeared. They're scum.'

Galbatorix looked at him steadily. 'How do you know, Morzan?'

'You're what I was looking for,' Morzan said earnestly. 'When I went to see the elders for the first time, I was looking for leaders. For people who cared about people. I thought they'd be noble an' wise, just like in the stories. But they weren't. It was all lies. But you… you're what they're not. _You're_ the leader I was looking for, I just didn't see it until last night. Now I know, and that's why I swore myself to you.'

This declaration, which was said in a tone of utter sincerity, took Galbatorix by surprise. In all his life he had never, ever seen himself as a leader. Even when he had governed Teirm he hadn't felt like a leader. But now Morzan was calling him one. This was something he had never expected to see, but he was seeing it now – someone was looking to him for leadership. And not just anyone. A fellow rider. Very much a leader in his own right already, but one who was so convinced that he, Galbatorix, was worth following that he had abandoned all the power and privileges he had once had and chosen of his own free will to become a fugitive and a traitor.

'I'm honoured, Morzan,' he said. 'If you really want me to lead you, then I'll do my best. I swear.'

'I trust you,' said Morzan. 'And… can I ask for something?'

'By all means,' said Galbatorix.

'When we go after the elders, let me kill Oromis,' said Morzan.

'Your old master? Why?'

'He's a monster,' said Morzan. 'And I hate him. What he did…'

'What did he do?' Galbatorix asked, leaning forward to listen.

Morzan's face was full of mingled disgust and fear. 'Everyone knew about it,' he said, clenching his fists. 'They all _knew._ But they just let it happen! No-one said anything. They just watched it happen and acted like it wasn't.'

'What was it?'

'Children,' Morzan said in a low voice. 'Small boys. I saw them. He had them sent up to his bedchamber. All the time. I _saw_ them. Brom saw them too, but he just kept making excuses, sayin' there was some other reason for it, and when I said there wasn't he just changed the subject.'

Galbatorix went cold. 'And the other elders knew about it?'

Morzan nodded clumsily. 'They knew. They all knew. Even Vrael knew. I heard him telling Oromis he ought to be more discreet, and Oromis just said no-one would dare ask questions anyway.'

Galbatorix drew White Violence and slammed it into the cave-floor, point-first, burying half the blade in the stone. It stuck there, and he grasped the hilt tightly, the same hatred Morzan had seen in the crypt burning in his cold eyes. 'We'll kill them, Morzan,' he said, speaking the ancient language. 'All of them.'

Morzan nodded. 'I'll find Oromis and I'll make him suffer.'

'And I'll kill Vrael,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll kill him with my own hands. When my sword finds him, I'll make him feel the pain he inflicted on me and I'll hear him scream, and then I'll know that justice has been done.'

'And anyone who tries to stop us will die,' said Morzan. 'Except…' he hesitated then, a semblance of normality showing through his rage. 'We won't kill Brom, will we? He'll join us, I'm sure he will. If I ask him to. I don't want to have to fight him; he's my best mate.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I don't want to hurt Brom. I didn't want to hurt Carina either. She attacked me first, but after I beat her she pleaded for her life and I was willing to listen. It was a trick. She caught me off-guard and stabbed me in the stomach.'

Morzan scowled. 'I liked Carina,' he said. 'She was always kind to us. But if she tries to get in our way, I'll kill her.'

'It'll be hard and dangerous,' said Galbatorix. 'Very dangerous. We probably won't survive. But I intend to fight on for as long as I can. Until I die or until I've won. No turning back. No hesitation.'

'Others will join us,' said Morzan. 'I know they will. We're not the only ones who know the truth.'

'I hope so,' said Galbatorix. 'I don't want to have to kill any more people than I have to.'

For the next four months, Galbatorix and Morzan lived in the cave. They ate well and trained; sparring with their swords and practising magic. Galbatorix taught Morzan some new spells that he had learned from Durza, but said nothing of the dark elvish ways he had learned. He still did not want to reveal that he was a half-breed, or speak of his time in the North. And besides which, he knew perfectly well that no-one except for him could use dark elvish magic. The ability to do it was in his blood, and now that the dark elves were extinct, no-one but him would be able to wield their magic. But he did make an attempt to show Morzan how to move in shadows. Morzan, however, lacked the dark elvish grace, and the art would not work for him. He could be very stealthy if he wanted to, but he was not able to melt into a shadow as Galbatorix could.

During that time Galbatorix regained his strength. His muscles rebuilt, his old wounds healed completely, and his hair slowly but surely regrew into a magnificent thick curly mane around his shoulders. He restyled his beard into a pointed goatee, and kept himself scrupulously clean. It made him feel like himself again. More than himself. Little by little he was reclaiming his identity.

On the second day after their arrival at the cave, he waited until he was alone and used a small pool of water on the floor to try and scry Skade. But the pool showed him nothing but darkness. That could mean one of three things. Either she was somehow shielded, or she was too far away for the spell to work. Or, most terribly of all, she was dead.

But Galbatorix refused to believe that. He banished the image, or lack of it, and cast the spell again. This time he sought out Durza. And he found him, sure enough. The Shade was standing somewhere in a rocky gorge, and looked around sharply almost as soon as he appeared, his blood-coloured eyes peering out of the pool.

His voice sounded faintly in the air. _Galbatorix? Is that you?_

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'Where are you, Durza?'

_I am near Orthíad. Still no sign of the Ra'zac. Where are you? I tried to find you a hundred times but you were not there._

'I'm on the coast,' said Galbatorix. 'I'd better not say where. I would have contacted you, but I was taken prisoner in Teirm for a few months.'

_But you escaped. May I ask how?_

'Morzan was governor of Teirm,' said Galbatorix. 'He decided to join me and set me free. I set him free of his oath to Vrael and he swore to serve me from now on.'

_That is excellent news,_ said Durza. _As I predicted, your actions have already drawn support. Have you anything else to tell me?_

'Yes. I have a new dragon.'

Durza blinked. It was the only sign of surprise he gave. _How did this happen? _

Galbatorix explained briefly. 'He's wild, but he trusts me. And he's strong. Very strong. And intelligent. He'll be big enough to ride in a few months.'

_It seems the gods are favouring you, _Durza observed.

Galbatorix nodded. 'My luck is definitely improving. Durza, there's something I want to know. Where's Skade? Did she get back to the cave?'

_She did, and now she and Rangda are on their quest to find the Night Dragon. Skade asked me to tell you that she will not forget you._

'I tried to scry her just now,' said Galbatorix. 'I saw nothing. Do you have any idea why?'

_The silver dragon has flown away over the sea,_ said Durza. _She is too far away to scry. Do not fear for your beloved, Galbatorix. She has a power few can even begin to comprehend, which you and I can neither understand nor control. It will protect her better than a hundred armies._

'What power is this?' said Galbatorix.

Durza glanced skywards. _The storm,_ he said. Before Galbatorix could reply the Shade went on, _I must go now. I do not wish to linger in the open for long. Contact me again in three days and we will speak then._

The vision faded away.

From then on Galbatorix made a point of scrying Durza every few days. The Shade travelled a remarkable distance in very little time, and reported all his doings briefly and concisely. Even though he still had not found the Ra'zac, he had plenty of things to tell Galbatorix. He had been spying on the various towns and villages he passed through, and gathered all the latest gossip, news and rumours. Word of Morzan's treachery and the Great Betrayer's third miraculous escape had spread quickly. Now, it was said, the two riders were in hiding somewhere, plotting to overthrow Vrael and the other elders. Some were angry, some frightened, but others – and this was the thing Durza seemed most interested in impressing on Galbatorix – others were speaking of it with excitement. Even admiration. There was rebellion in the air. So far nothing major had happened, but the common people were becoming restive. A few brave and reckless souls had even taken to spreading propaganda about how the Great Betrayer was going to avenge every unjust thing the riders had ever done, and how he would welcome anyone who joined him and lead them to victory over the riders.

The response from the riders had been both predictable and depressing. Such people were hunted down and summarily executed – publicly, and by the method that would have been used on Galbatorix. The traitor's death. Those who were lucky enough to avoid capture went into hiding or fled into the wilderness. But even so, there was something the riders could not remove, and that was the symbol. The triple spiral that Galbatorix had left on the walls of Ilirea was appearing everywhere, carved into fenceposts, painted on walls, scratched into the soil. Durza had been encouraging its spread by leaving it in various places for people to see.

It was perfect. Galbatorix saw that right away. 'I've become a symbol,' he told Morzan, once he had tentatively revealed all this information to him. 'I'm everywhere. The riders have no way of telling where I am now. I could be anywhere. But I'm everywhere. They're starting to see my presence everywhere. And they can't shake it off.'

As soon as he was ready to emerge from hiding and declare open war on the riders, the people who had drawn those symbols and believed in the talk of rebellion would flock to his side. He knew it in his bones. The ground was being prepared for him when he wasn't even there. It made him want to laugh.

Morzan was growing more and more impatient to leave the cave and begin the fight back, but Galbatorix continually made him stay. 'We're not ready,' he said, again and again.

The main reason for that was Shruikan. The young dragon still had growing to do. And he and Galbatorix still had to learn how to work together. It was just the same as it had been with Laela, in a way.

But it was harder. Shruikan was not Laela. Although he and Galbatorix were indeed bonded now, they did not have the instant grace and harmony that there had been with Laela. Their bond was very different. They could speak to each other and share their feelings, but they had not bonded because their natures were perfectly compatible. Shruikan was a wild dragon. He did not understand human things, and had no interest in understanding them either. Much of the time he was openly contemptuous toward Morzan and Idün, whom he called a "tame" dragon. Only Galbatorix's influence kept Idün from trying to discipline the belligerent black dragon, but even he had trouble with Shruikan.

Shruikan was rebellious. He trusted Galbatorix and seemed to like him as well, but he would disappear for days on end and come back suddenly and with no explanation of where he had gone or why. He refused to defer to Galbatorix in any way and was often arrogantly aloof.

But Galbatorix persisted. He would spend hours with Shruikan, just talking to him, telling him things in mental speech, sharing himself with his new partner, piece by piece. When Shruikan was uncooperative, when he snarled at Morzan or was rude to Idün, Galbatorix asserted himself. He scolded the black dragon, even physically restrained him once or twice, and continually worked at making him calm down and be civilised. It wasn't easy. On one occasion Shruikan actually attacked Galbatorix in a fit of rage, snarling in pain as he felt the injuries he inflicted on him through their mental link, but persisting all the same. But Galbatorix fought back, and eventually both of them were forced to retire, unable to bear the pain any longer. Shruikan sulked in a corner of the cave, but when Galbatorix approached to heal his wounds he let him do it, and then silently lifted his snout to Galbatorix's hand and let him stroke his head and murmur to soothe him.

Many times, Morzan wondered why Galbatorix kept at it. He had never seen a rider actually in open conflict with his own dragon like this. He'd argued with Idün in the past, but they had always agreed in the end, and neither of them had so much as considered the idea of attacking or abandoning each other. This, however, was different. Although Shruikan was bonded he remained wild, and as Galbatorix slowly talked, threatened, cajoled and bribed his way into the black dragon's confidence, Morzan realised what he was doing. He was taming Shruikan, slowly but surely, teaching him how to behave, forcing him to control his natural ferocity. And Shruikan gradually began to calm down. Galbatorix asked Idün to begin teaching him how to fight and fly, and she obeyed, albeit with some hesitation.

'Work him hard,' Galbatorix told her privately. 'Don't be afraid to use force if you have to. He won't like it, but he can't learn if he won't be disciplined.'

Idün obeyed. Shruikan submitted rather sulkily to her tutelage, after Galbatorix had told him to be respectful to her.

The red dragon quickly found herself with a battle on her claws, but she persisted, with Morzan's encouragement. She began teaching Shruikan various aerial manoeuvres, and set him to carrying out tasks designed to strengthen him. When he was six months old and big enough to carry a rider, Galbatorix borrowed Idün's saddle and, after some coaxing and even a few threats, strapped it onto Shruikan's shoulders. Shruikan let him climb on and secure himself, and then took to the air, flying up and over the sea. Morzan and Idün stood in the cave entrance and watched the black dragon circling high above, a dark speck against the clouds. He made several loops and dives, skimming low over the sea before catching a warm ocean breeze with his wings and shooting straight upwards. Galbatorix clung on skilfully, his curly hair flowing in the breeze, and they could see how much in harmony the two of them were now. It was a rough, wild kind of harmony, but harmony all the same.

Shruikan finally returned to the cave, landing a little clumsily on the sand outside. Galbatorix climbed down and patted the dragon's neck.

'Did you see us?' said Shruikan, addressing both Morzan and Idün. He was panting, but his teeth were bared in a grin. 'We did it! We flew together! It was _amazing.'_

Morzan blinked. 'You liked it?'

Shruikan nodded vigorously.

Galbatorix grinned. 'I was hoping you'd enjoy it,' he said. 'I certainly did. I hadn't flown like that in a very long time.'

Shruikan nudged him affectionately with his snout, knocking him off his feet. 'Forgive me for not wanting to do it,' he said. 'I'd flown before, but… like that, with you there, sharing how it felt… it was wonderful.'

Galbatorix got up, wincing. 'It's like I said,' he said. 'We're bonded, you and I. And we share how things feel. That's what it means to be a rider.'

Shruikan flicked his wings. 'As soon as I'm old enough to breathe fire, we can go,' he said. 'I'm tired of waiting. I want to fight.'

'And that's what we'll do,' Galbatorix promised. 'But we'll have to practise flying too.'

'Good,' said Shruikan.

Over the next month or so Shruikan and Galbatorix went flying together often. That was when Morzan saw a proper partnership truly begin to form between them. The battle was over. Now that Shruikan and Galbatorix had come to fully trust each other and to work together without the need to argue, they were approaching something like the absolute grace that Morzan and Idün had. Two bodies, one soul.

At last the day came when Shruikan breathed fire for the first time, spitting a great lance of black and silver flame across the cave. He practised it endlessly, evidently proud of this new gift, and this final stage in the black dragon's maturing marked a disturbing change in Galbatorix's behaviour.

He became restless, pacing back and forth in the cave and muttering under his breath, and at other times practising with his sword, making powerful swings and thrusts at the air, his face locked in cold concentration. His usual patience deserted him, and he became irritable and aggressive. Evidently he was tired of staying in the cave. Something of Shruikan's spirit seemed to have worked its way into his rider, and Morzan was not at all surprised when he stood up one day and said; 'It's time. Time to begin.'

Morzan had prepared himself. This was the day he had waited for so long, and he felt his fighting spirit rise inside him. 'When do we go, sir?'

'Today. Now.'

Morzan nodded and set about packing up his belongings. Galbatorix helped him, and between them they broke camp and repacked their bags. The dragons were quick to see what was going on. Idün let Morzan fasten her saddle and strap the bags to it, and stood waiting by the entrance, her tail lashing.

Galbatorix had fashioned a crude saddle for Shruikan out of a blanket, and he tied this in place and then climbed up and sat down, taking hold of the rope he had tied around the black dragon's neck. 'All right,' he said. 'Let's go.'

Morzan mounted Idün and nodded to signify that he was ready.

Idün and Shruikan took to the sky, their riders holding on, both wearing determined expressions. Morzan, feeling the wind whip through his hair, realised his heart was pounding. But his fear was subsumed by his dark excitement. The waiting was over. Their time was now.

A cool breeze was blowing over the rooftops of Dras-Leona. It caught at the brightly-coloured banners that hung from the castle walls, making them snap and flick against the stone. It was late evening and the first of the stars were coming out. Up on the dragon roost, Calathiel patted her partner's neck. _'Don't be long,'_ she said softly.

Her partner, a heavily-built male dragon whose scales sparkled sapphire blue, put his head on one side and crooned softly. _'I'll be back by morning,'_ he said. _'I promise.'_

'_Very well,'_ said Calathiel. _'But be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you.'_

'_And nothing will,'_ said the dragon. _'I swear it.'_

'_I trust you,' _said Calathiel. _'Good luck, Iormungr.'_

The blue dragon dipped his head to her again, and then turned and launched himself off the roost. His large, sky-coloured wings opened and he flew away, up and over the Leona lake and toward the looming mountains of the Spine. Calathiel watched him go, and sighed. Her partner was spending a lot of time in the Spine right now. It seemed that finding a mate had awoken some instinct in him that wanted to spend time with wild dragons, and Calathiel couldn't very well stop him. She too wanted to return to her own people. She had been among humans too long. Their loud, crude ways made her feel tired and lonely.

She didn't feel like going below and facing Lord Aisling's blustering again, so she stayed in the open air and idly watched the sky darken

It was darkening too fast. Calathiel realised something other than night was coming when she saw the stars disappear from the sky. Dark clouds were coming in from over the mountains, and they closed over the city with unnatural speed, suddenly lit by lightning. Calathiel began to be afraid. Iormungr was going to be caught in the storm. And as the wind picked up, she shared the dragon's instinctive fear of it.

She tried to reach out mentally for him, but he was out of range. All she could pick up was a faint flicker of emotion. He was feeling nervous, but he was calm enough, and that meant he was safe.

Calathiel looked upward. The storm was becoming more violent. The wind tugged at her white-blonde hair, and lightning flashed, again and again, answered by thunder, although there was no rain as yet. She thought she saw something pale moving overhead, but almost as soon as it caught her eye it vanished into the darkness.

Calathiel hesitated. She knew she should go back inside, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the thought of Iormungr stranded in the mountains, but either way…

A gust of wind nearly blew her over, and she grabbed hold of the low wall that surrounded the dragon roost to steady herself, her stomach lurching.

The back of her neck prickled. There was something not right. She could feel it.

Calathiel turned around, reaching for her sword, and froze.

There was someone sitting on the wall behind her. She had not heard the trapdoor open, and indeed it was still closed. There was no way he could have climbed the roost, and yet there he was. A young man in a black robe, sitting there on the edge of the roost and idly cleaning his fingernails. His long, curly hair was jet black and streamed out behind him in the wind, and he had a pale, angular face with black eyes and a pointed black beard adorning his chin.

'Who are _you?'_ Calathiel demanded, shocked. 'How did you get here?'

The man glanced up at her. 'Oh, hello,' he said coolly. 'I was wondering when you were going to notice me. Aren't you elves supposed to have better senses?'

'How did you get here?' Calathiel said again, hiding her shock.

The man sighed and pushed a lock of hair out of his face. 'Well, I have a few names. I seem to be collecting them. But my name won't be of any use to you, Calathiel.'

'How do you know my name?' said Calathiel.

'You'd be amazed at the things I know,' said the man. He sighed and began to mutter a string of strange-sounding words. At first Calathiel thought he was reciting a spell, but as she prepared to defend herself she realised the words were not in the ancient language. They were some other language, one she did not recognise.

'What are you doing?' she asked, still uncertain as to whether he was a threat or not.

The man stood up. He was taller than she had realised, and the wind tugged at his robe as he continued to mutter, his eyes fixed on her face.

Calathiel did not like this. She drew her sword. 'What are you doing?' she demanded.

'I'm reciting your funeral rites,' said the man, in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice. 'As a courtesy.'

'_What?_' said Calathiel. 'Are you insane?'

The man snickered. 'So they say,' he said. 'But that's not really for you to worry about, elf.'

'Who _are_ you?' said Calathiel, yet again. 'I command you to tell me, or I will have you arrested.'

'Arrested for what?' said the man. Without waiting for an answer, he began to speak once more, using the ancient language but in a strange ritualistic chant. 'I am the shadow that comes in the night, I am the one with the hole in his heart, I am the King who rules over the dead, I am the fear that lurks in your soul.' He reached up to his shoulder and drew a long sword with a white blade. Lightning flashed behind him, outlining him in burning energy. 'I am the rider of the black dragon, I am the one who comes on the wings of the storm. I am the Great Betrayer… and you are my enemy.'

Terror put ice into Calathiel's heart. 'Oh my gods,' she breathed. '_No.'_

In that instant, Galbatorix attacked. He did it so suddenly and violently that the horrified elf had no time to react, and before she could summon up her magic, he was on her. She raised her sword in time, and the two riders began to fight, fast and brutally.

It was the first time Galbatorix had really fought someone since the day Laela died, and this was different. When he had killed Laela's murderers he had done so in a mad frenzy, barely knowing what he was doing. He still had trouble remembering much of what had happened during those terrible days and nights, but he knew perfectly well that he had been out of his mind.

Now it was different. Now he was aware of what he was doing. Now he was fighting not to defend himself. He had chosen this fight.

And he liked it.

He let all his buried rage and hatred rise to the surface and drive him forward, putting strength into his sword-arm. Calathiel fought back powerfully, her greater experience making up for his innate talent and advantage of surprise. They gave each other no space to use magic, and the clash of hardened steel mingled with the growing storm overhead. As Galbatorix collected a few small injuries, the pain of it made his anger increase. He drove forward recklessly, landing a dozen crushing blows on his enemy, who wilted in the face of his onslaught. Desperate, she brought her blue-bladed sword around in a powerful sweep, slashing his arm open from shoulder to elbow. Galbatorix yelled in pain and backed off a little, and Calathiel was quick to take advantage of it. She flicked her sword into her left hand, freeing the right, and unleashed her magic. Blue energy leapt the gap between them, aimed straight at Galbatorix's face. But he blocked it swiftly and counter-attacked. Pitch-black magic shot straight toward Calathiel. She dodged it, and it struck the stone behind her, shattering it and sending shards of red-hot shrapnel in all directions. Neither of them paused to avoid it. They began to hurl spells at each other, lightning-fast, each one trying to overwhelm the other. This was true magical duelling; intense, powerful, and extremely dangerous. It was a hundred times more destructive than an ordinary, physical fight, and a hundred times more exhausting. Winning was only half of the battle; the other half was avoiding passing out from having used up too much energy in one go.

Now it was Galbatorix who was at a disadvantage. His wound was bleeding profusely, and it was a second drain on his energy which he could not afford to have. Calathiel was quick to realise this, and gave him no room to heal himself; she continued to attack remorselessly, sending a barrage of blue fireballs at him and forcing him to waste energy blocking them.

But then, quite suddenly, she screamed. Her magic faded away and she fell backward, writhing and screaming, doubling up with her hands pressed into her stomach.

Galbatorix ceased his attack and returned White Violence to his right hand. He walked toward the elf and kicked her own sword out of her grasp, sending it spinning away over the stones. She relaxed and sagged gently back onto the ground, her breathing harsh. Her eyes had gone large and terrified. 'Iormungr,' she gasped. 'No, please gods no… Iormungr…'

Galbatorix put the tip of White Violence's blade to her throat. 'I hope you said goodbye to him,' he said. 'Because you're never going to see him again.'

Calathiel acted fast. She grabbed hold of the swordblade and wrenched it sideways, heedless of the blood that immediately began running down over her arms, and hurled herself at Galbatorix, screaming; '_IORMUNGR!_'

Galbatorix dodged her attack and kicked out, catching her hard in the stomach. The instant she hit the ground, he took White Violence in both hands and thrust it into the elf's chest. The white blade passed straight through her body, piercing her heart and killing her almost instantly.

Galbatorix pulled White Violence free and stood back, panting. He was drenched in blood and sweat and his arms were trembling from his exertions, but the thrill of the kill set his blood on fire. He cleaned the gore off White Violence's blade as well as he could, then sheathed the weapon and bent to check Calathiel's pulse. There wasn't one. He looked at her stiffening face for a moment, then picked up her limp right hand and took the gold seal ring from it. He put it in his pocket, then strode over to her sword and picked it up. As he was tucking it into his shoulder-belt beneath White Violence's sheath, a movement caught his eye. He turned around sharply, and saw something fall out of Calathiel's cloak. Curious, he went closer to see what it was, and gasped.

It was a dragon's egg. Sapphire blue, gleaming in the stormlight.

Galbatorix picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He could tell by the weight of it and by the smooth feel of the shell that it was real.

He stowed it away inside his robe.

Moments later, the trapdoor leading to the roost suddenly opened. Galbatorix drew White Violence and turned to face this new threat, but to his astonishment the person who came through the trapdoor was none other than Lord Aisling himself.

Aisling pulled himself into the open and stood still, staring bewildered at the scene that awaited him.

A man in a black robe that was wet with blood, holding a bloodied sword in his hand and standing over the corpse of Calathiel, lightning flashing in the sky behind him.

Aisling's mouth fell open. 'Oh dear gods in heaven… guards!'

He must have had some already with him. Half a dozen armed men burst out of the entrance and surrounded the burly lord, who pointed at Galbatorix and said; 'Get him! Take him prisoner!'

Galbatorix grinned horribly. 'Don't you recognise me, my Lord?'

The first of the guards reached him and attacked. Galbatorix stepped aside to avoid his spear-thrust, and brought White Violence down. The guard fell. His head rolled a few feet and came to a stop, and Galbatorix charged at his comrades. They never stood a chance.

Lord Aisling watched the massacre with horror, and as the last of the guards fell he made for the trapdoor. But a gust of wind caught it and slammed it shut, and the next moment Galbatorix was there. His sword was still in his hand and there was a ghastly look in his eyes.

Lord Aisling started to tremble. 'Please don't kill me! I'm begging you!'

Galbatorix watched him plead for his life, a faint sneer on his face. 'My gods, you look even more pathetic now than you did the last time we met.'

Aisling backed away from him, but Galbatorix followed, silently stalking him over the darkened dragon roost until he was forced to stop when he reached the edge of the hole left by the magical duel. There he fell to his knees, sobbing. 'Please. P-please gods don't kill me!'

Galbatorix paused, then spread his free hand over Aisling's head and began to mutter. '_Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then by a breeze in the night to be blown away to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the soul of Lord Aisling of Dras-Leona, may he look down from the stars and may his wisdom embrace us. This I ask in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon._'

He let his hand drop, and for a moment there was stillness, broken only by the rumbling of the thunder.

'What does that mean?' Aisling dared to ask.

Galbatorix looked at him with utter contempt. 'Ingë Taranisäii sends her regards,' he said, and struck the old lord a powerful blow which sent him tumbling backward off the tower and into space, his last scream swallowed up by the wind.

Galbatorix stood in silence on the roost for a time, feeling the wind in his hair. His arm hurt, but he hardly noticed it. He looked around at the bodies, which lay where they had fallen, trying to make himself feel something over what he had done. But he felt nothing.

The trapdoor opened yet again, and a dozen more guards, evidently summoned by someone who had heard the noise of the fight, came charging through it. They stopped when they saw what awaited them.

They looked at the heap of bloody corpses, at the great crater on the edge of the roost, and most of all they looked at the only living person left there, who looked back at them.

Their leader, with considerable courage, pointed at Galbatorix and said; 'You! Throw down your sword, now!'

Galbatorix started to laugh. He laughed too hard; a cold, sadistic laugh that went on for a long time. The guards advanced on him, but he made no move to escape. He stepped backward, until he was balanced precariously on the edge of the void, and put his sword back into its sheath. Then he raised his arms as if in a gesture of surrender.

The foremost of the guards reached him, and tentatively reached out to seize him. Galbatorix did not move. But as the guards closed in, ready to take him into captivity once more, a great, shadowy dragon swooped down from the sky and carried him away.


	30. The Forsworn

Chapter Thirty

The Forsworn

Morzan was waiting for him at the new camp they'd set up, tucked away in a little valley in the Spine. The storm had died down by now, and Shruikan set Galbatorix down at the edge of the camp, circled overhead a couple of times and then came down to land by Idün. Morzan had already re-lit the fire and was cooking something over it, and when Galbatorix came to join him he said; 'There you are, sir! We were getting a little worried.'

Galbatorix sat down by the fire. 'Hello, Morzan. How did you go?'

'We did it, right enough,' said Morzan. 'You?'

Galbatorix touched his arm and winced. 'I killed her. Bitch landed a few blows on me, though.' He rolled up the sleeve of his robe and inspected the wound. It was crusting over by now, but watery blood was still oozing out of it. He muttered the healing spell over it and sighed in relief. There was still a silvery scar there, and he ran his thumb over it and said; 'Huh. A memento.' He pulled the sleeve back into place, and took Calathiel's sword from his back, dumping it by the fireside. 'Thought this might be useful. In case either of us loses our sword, or if we need money or something. These things are valuable. And look what else I found.' He reached into his robe and brought out the egg.

Morzan whistled. 'That's a lucky find, sir,' he said. 'Where did you get it?'

'She had it with her. It must have been fathered by her dragon. I'm assuming you killed him?'

Morzan nodded. 'It wasn't easy; he was a strong one. But I hit him with a few spells and Idün finished him off. Had to kill his mate, too.'

Galbatorix tapped the blue egg's shell. 'Poor thing's an orphan now. Well, we'll take care of it.'

'So how did you go, sir?' said Morzan.

'She was up on the dragon roost,' said Galbatorix. 'Shruikan dropped me off and she didn't see us in the dark. I took her by surprise. She put up a good fight, but you got her dragon not long afterwards, which gave me the chance to finish her off. I killed a few guards, too, and that idiot Lord Aisling.'

Morzan blinked. 'Why? He can't have been a threat.'

'No. But with him dead, Dras-Leona won't have a replacement governor straight away. There'll be plenty of unrest over that. And Aisling might have been an idiot, but he was well-known. A very prominent supporter of Vrael. Now he's dead, and Calathiel too, and I made sure some of the survivors saw me. The story will spread about how the Great Betrayer appeared out of nowhere and killed a fully-trained rider, along with one of Vrael's most powerful lackeys, and then vanished again completely unscathed. In the middle of a storm. With a black dragon that also came out of nowhere.'

Morzan paused to mull this over, and then grinned. 'You're a cunning one, all right, sir.' He prodded the chunk of meat that was spitted over the fire. 'I think it's ready. Want some?'

'Yes please. I feel like I haven't eaten in days.'

Morzan hacked off a few slices and passed them over, spitted on a dagger blade. 'There you go. I think it's a bit burnt, though…'

Galbatorix accepted it. 'Listen, Morzan; a few months ago I was so desperate for food that I ate my own gloves. A little bit of charring isn't going to bother me much.' He ate, chewing gratefully at the meat, which was indeed burnt, but which, to him, tasted delicious.

'So what do we do next?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix swallowed his food. 'The same thing,' he said. 'Again and again.'

And that was how Galbatorix began his war against the riders.

Following the deaths of Calathiel and Aisling – which created exactly the kind of stir that Galbatorix had predicted – fear slowly began to take hold of the riders that survived.

Two more riders were killed within the space of a few months. One was found dead in his private chamber, with signs of a struggle but not a mark on his body, his face locked into an expression of agonising pain. Later it was discovered that his dragon had been killed as she slept on her roost, her body showing the signs of having been attacked by at least two other dragons. A second, sent to replace Calathiel as governor of Dras-Leona, was attacked in the air by both the Great Betrayer and his accomplice, who killed both her and her dragon in broad daylight, fully visible to the people in the city below, who saw the two corpses go tumbling out of the sky. Later on a third rider was killed, and this one survived long enough to speak of the last thing he had seen before his throat was ripped open. 'Black eyes,' he said, the blood gurling in his chest. 'Black eyes, black dragon. He spoke – spoke – said… funeral rites…'

Those were that rider's last words. His body was taken back to Ilirea to be entombed, and so that Vrael could see the latest victim of the Great Betrayer.

And in spite of everything the riders tried, nothing they did could put a stop to it. The most powerful and experienced riders were sent to all parts of the country, to search for the two traitors, but all of them failed. Three more failed to return to Ilirea, and their remains were not recovered for some time. Every member of every race was on the lookout. Even the wild dragons had agreed to do what they could. All of them failed. It was like trying to find a pair of ghosts. One day they would be seen near Teirm, the next they would be in Du Weldenvarden, and after that they might be spotted heading in the direction of Orthíad.

The common people, witnessing this new evidence of weakness from their ruling class, became increasingly restless. In some places, in small towns and villages whose people had greivances against the riders, open rebellion began to break out. People began refusing to pay taxes, claiming that if the riders could not catch a mere two rebels then they did not deserve the right to take their subjects' hard-earned wages. The elves and the dwarves were mobilising to help their rider allies, but the humans, who after all made up the majority of Alagaësia's people, did not do so. They were not slow to notice something important about the victims of the Great Betrayer: all of them had been elves.

The rift between elvish and human riders began to widen. As Vrael became more and more paranoid toward humans he succeeded in alienating them further, and even more so when he shut himself away in Ilirea and refused to speak to anyone save his fellow elves.

And Galbatorix, hearing of all this, knew his plan was working. Little by little, the riders were losing control over the land they had ruled for a thousand years. Sooner or later, something was going to happen that would change everything. And, nearly two years after his escape from Ilirea, it did.

It was early evening, and Galbatorix was sitting on a large rock formation in the Beor mountains with Shruikan by his side. He and Morzan had chosen this spot as a new temporary hideout the previous day, and Galbatorix was taking this opportunity to have some time in just Shruikan's silent company. Morzan was at their camp below and Idün was perched on a mountaintop, hidden among the rocks, keeping watch.

Galbatorix sighed. Ever since he and Morzan had begun their vendetta against the riders they had both lived fraught and unsettled lives. Always moving, never safe, unable to show their faces near civilisation. They had been living on the run for over a year, and it was exhausting. Morzan had taken on the same lean, wary look as the friend he now looked to as a master, and Idün had become savage and restless, like the wild dragon she now more or less was.

It was a life that suited Shruikan well, however. The black dragon had continued to grow steadily and was now close to the size Laela had been when she died. He remained fierce and unpredictable, but he and Galbatorix now understood each other very well and made a formidable team. Shruikan's presence did a lot to keep Galbatorix steady and focused. He could still feel the pain of Laela's death inside him – sometimes unbearably so – and at night he was often tormented by nightmares where he saw her plead with him to save her, only to die while he watched, helpless. But Shruikan helped him bear his pain and grief. The black dragon's natural calm soothed him, and his anger and fighting spirit protected him from despair. As long as he was there, Galbatorix knew he would never give in, never lose his way, never forget what it was that drove him on and gave him a reason to live. He no longer had any doubts about what he was doing. He had accepted his fate, just as Arthryn had told him. _I am the destroyer,_ he would remind himself before an attack began. _I am the shadow that comes in the night, I am the fear that lurks in their souls, I am the Great Betrayer. _

It gave him a dark thrill.

Now he sat in silence and watched the stars begin to come out. It was still light, but the Northern Star was already visible on the horizon and, further down, a watery yellow sunset was beginning.

He couldn't see Morzan from his vantage-point. The camp was hidden among some trees not far away from the heap of rocks, and there was no sign of smoke from the black fire Galbatorix had lit. But from time to time he made mental contact with Idün, and she reassured him that all was well.

But then, as the air slowly grew colder with the oncoming night, the red dragon's mind suddenly radiated nervousness. Galbatorix let her into his mind so she could speak to him, and she said; _'My Lord… something is happening below.'_

'_What is it?'_ said Galbatorix, already reaching for his sword.

'_It's all right,'_ Idün said hastily. _'I don't think there's any danger, but… Morzan says he has just captured two people.'_

Galbatorix stood up. _'What people? Who? Where are they? Are there any others?'_

'_They surrendered to him,'_ said Idün. _'They're… they know the ancient language, they promised they wouldn't attack. He's taking them to you right now.'_

Galbatorix moved to the edge of the rock and was in time to see Morzan emerge from the trees onto the patch of grass below. Sure enough he was accompanied by two people, both women, who were walking slowly with their hands raised to show they were unarmed. Galbatorix blinked, wondering who they were, and then he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

Both of them were carrying rider's swords. One green, one brown.

Morzan brought his prisoners to the base of the heap of rocks, and all three of them looked up at Galbatorix.

'Hello, Morzan,' Galbatorix called down. 'Who are these people?'

Morzan nudged one of his prisoners, the one with the green sword. She glanced at her companion, and then knelt, bowing her head respectfully. Her companion did likewise.

'My Lord Galbatorix,' the one with the green sword said, her voice carrying strongly up toward him, surprisingly resolute in tone. 'We have come to find you.'

Galbatorix sat down, cross-legged. The rock-heap was not too tall, and he could hear them easily enough. 'Who are you?' he said. 'Use the ancient language.'

The two women stood up. The one with the green sword took hold of her companion's hand and said; 'My name is Tranah Fenixdaughter, and this is Strein Daretborn. We mean you no harm.' She spoke the ancient language with a confidence that suggested she had been fluent in it for some time.

'What do you want?' said Galbatorix.

Strein, the one with the brown sword, spoke for the first time. 'We have come to join you, Lord Galbatorix,' she said. 'If you will accept us.'

They were both human. Galbatorix saw that easily enough. Tranah's hair was short and she wore a plain green tunic and trousers. She was square and stocky, with a broad, freckled face and green eyes. Strein, beside her, was a little taller and slimmer, and had dark blonde hair and brown eyes. They were both older than him, and had a certain toughness and authority that suggested they were senior riders.

'You want to be set free from your vows?' said Galbatorix.

Strein nodded. 'We both do,' she said. 'We've wanted to for a long time.'

'So you want me to undo your oaths,' said Galbatorix. 'What will you give me in return?'

'We'll fight for you,' said Tranah. 'We'll take oaths to serve you.'

Galbatorix fixed them both with a powerful stare. 'Why?' The question was asked in a flat, direct way, as if it were etched in stone.

They hesitated. But Tranah gripped her companion's hand more tightly and spoke up. 'Because we were also betrayed by the elders, and we know about the things they have done. They committed a crime against us, and we want revenge. We talked it over and decided that you were the one to lead us.' She lifted her hair away from her ears, revealing that she, like Morzan, had cut off the pointed tips. Strein had done the same.

'We will fight for you, Lord Galbatorix,' she said. 'Only set us free, and accept us.'

Galbatorix jumped down from the rock, landing neatly in front of them. 'What did the elders do to you, Tranah? And you, Strein. What did you… see?'

Strein glanced at Tranah. She seemed to be preparing herself. 'We were in love,' she said in a low voice.

Galbatorix blinked. 'With who?'

'It started in Ellesméra,' said Tranah. 'It was the Blood-Oath celebration. Our dragons… the magic got into them and they mated. We weren't prepared for it. It affected us as well. And we… it happens sometimes. Our master had told us that. If you don't block it out, sometimes… it was only meant to last for that short time. But it didn't.'

Galbatorix realised what she was trying to say. He looked at the two of them as they stood there, hand in hand, and felt revolted. But he said nothing, and kept his face steady.

Morzan was less discreet. 'Get the hell out of here!' he shouted. 'You perverts!'

Galbatorix raised a hand. 'Morzan, no. Be quiet.' He looked at Tranah and Strein again and said, 'So the elders found out about it, did they?'

Tranah nodded. 'And they… we were both whipped. And then they separated us. Sent us to opposite sides of the country and wouldn't let us return for years on end. It was… being away from Strein… I couldn't bear it. I nearly killed myself.'

'And you came to me because you think I can help you punish them for doing that to you.'

Strein nodded. 'No-one else would accept us, but we thought you would.'

Morzan had gone very red in the face. 'Sir, you can't seriously be thinking of…!'

'Shut up, Morzan.'

Morzan fell silent, glaring at him.

'Leave us,' said Galbatorix. 'Go back to the camp and wait for me there. _Now!'_

Morzan didn't miss the sudden sharpness in his voice. He left, muttering resentfully.

Tranah watched him carefully until he was out of earshot, and then gave Galbatorix a pleading look. 'Please,' she said. 'Don't be like them. You're our only hope.'

Galbatorix said nothing. He watched the two of them, deep in thought. It was plain enough that they loved each other. The way they looked at each other, the affection in their faces, the absolute trust and harmony that lay between them… they had come here to see him, both fully aware of the very real risk that they could be killed by either him or by the elders, but they were taking courage from each other. His first reaction to them had been horror and revulsion, but now, seeing this, he wondered why he should have felt that way.

'Please, my Lord,' said Strein. 'I love Tranah. We're hurting no-one. Why shouldn't we love each other? What's wrong with it?'

The earnest entreaty in her voice brought a memory back to Galbatorix. He thought of Skade, her golden eyes looking into his, her hands in his hair, whispering to him. _My sweet one. My Galbatorix. _

At long last he spoke. 'Do you love her?' he asked Tranah. 'Do you… what does it feel like? Tell me that, and be honest.'

Tranah hesitated. 'It feels like…'

'When I'm with Tranah, I feel complete,' Strein broke in. 'I feel safe, as if nothing could ever hurt me.'

'-You feel like she's the reason you breathe, the reason you sleep, the reason you wake,' said Galbatorix. 'When you look at her you feel as if you could do anything. And even though you've been taught all your life that what you're doing is wrong, you can't help it. Because you know it was meant to be, and if you can't be with her, then you want to die.'

There was a silence.

'Yes,' Tranah said softly. 'It's like that.'

'How did you _know?'_ said Strein.

'Kneel,' said Galbatorix. 'Both of you.'

They obeyed. Galbatorix spread his right hand over them and began to speak the words of the spell. The two riders shivered as they felt the magic move through them, and when he was done Galbatorix said; 'Your oaths have been dissolved. You're free.'

Tranah's worn face split into a great smile. 'Thankyou, my Lord,' she said. 'A thousand times, and with all my heart. Now let me return the favour.' She placed her hand on her chest and spoke in the ancient language. 'I swear to serve you, Lord Galbatorix, to fight beside you with all my strength, until you release me or until death takes me. I swear this by my heart, my soul and my blood, and may I be struck down if my oath be broken.'

Strein repeated the oath, and afterwards she and her beloved stood up and bowed low to their new master.

Galbatorix held out a hand, and Tranah shook it formally, followed by Strein. 'I'm honoured to have you with me,' said Galbatorix. 'Truly.'

'And we shall be honoured to fight by your side, my Lord,' said Strein.

'Where are your dragons?' said Galbatorix.

'They're waiting for us back there,' said Tranah, pointing back into the woods. 'We had to leave them behind so you'd see us as less of a threat. I'll call to mine now.'

There was silence as the two riders reached out for their partners, and then they and Galbatorix waited for them to come. A few minutes later, a pair of dragons – one brown, one green – appeared over the treetops. They landed on the grass and their riders went to meet them, reassuring them with touch. Shruikan leapt down from his perch on the rock heap and swaggered toward the two newcomers, his head laid low and his wings half-spread in a gesture of aggression. The two dragons turned to face him, both hissing warily. They were bigger than Shruikan, but displayed obvious fear of him. The black dragon snapped at the green one and she shrank away, dipping her head in submission. Evidently pleased, Shruikan proceeded to cow the other with a stare and a snarl, then lifted his head and roared.

From her perch on the mountainside overhead, Idün roared back. The brown and green dragons joined their voices with hers, and the roars rose into the darkened sky, loud and ferocious, carrying over the mountains. Once Galbatorix would have urged them to be quiet, lest the noise give away their position, but not now. He felt his own spirit rise inside him with the sound of Shruikan's roar, and fought down a wild urge to bellow at the sky along with him. It was a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.

He led Tranah and Strein to the camp, where Morzan was sitting by the fire, eating an apple.

Galbatorix bade his new followers sit down with him, which they did, albeit with some glances at Morzan.

Morzan spat out an apple seed. 'What're those two doing here?'

'Tranah and Strein have joined us,' said Galbatorix. 'I've released them from their vows and they have sworn to serve me.'

Morzan went purple. '_What?_ Are you insane? Those two, following us around? You must be joking.'

Galbatorix shot him a warning glare. 'You'll be polite to them, or I'll make you regret it. These women are riders, the same as us. And I'll take a moment to remind you that they're more experienced than both of us put together. I consider it an honour that they chose to come here.'

Morzan was mortified. 'But – but-,' he spluttered.

'But nothing,' Galbatorix snapped. 'Apologise.'

'But I-,'

'_Now.'_

Morzan knew better than to argue. He glanced quickly at Tranah and Strein. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered.

'That's better,' said Galbatorix. 'Now… Tranah, Strein, this is Morzan Drasborn, my friend. And don't let the scowling put you off; he's perfectly harmless. Right, Morzan?'

Morzan scowled. 'Don't make fun of me.'

But his embarrassment defused the situation very nicely. Tranah and Strein laughed, and the tension drained out of the atmosphere. The two women embraced and kissed passionately, then hastily pulled apart, looking at Morzan and Galbatorix. Morzan looked away in disgust, but Galbatorix said; 'There's no need to worry about that any more. Never be ashamed of who you are, and never be ashamed of who you love. Someone very special taught me that, and even if I believe nothing else, I believe that.'

Morzan was sulky for much of the evening, but cheered up a little when Strein volunteered to prepare the food. Tranah, perhaps sensing that it would be bad for there to be tension between herself and Morzan, sidled over to him and attemped to engage him in conversation. He was resistant at first, but Tranah quickly proved to have a strong will, and by the time the food was ready she and Morzan were talking animatedly. It turned out that both had been born in Dras-Leona and in fact had some acquaintances in common, and when Morzan accepted a bowl of food from Strein he was behaving much more pleasantly.

Galbatorix, watching all this with some amusement, settled down to eat. As he was about to take the first bite, he paused and looked up. 'Do any of you know what day it is?'

Strein paused to think about it. 'Uh… about two weeks before the day of the Sixth Hatching, I think.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Huh.'

'What?'

'I didn't even realise it until just now,' said Galbatorix. 'It's hard to keep track of time out here.' He smiled. 'Today's my twenty-first birthday.'

The addition of Tranah and Strein marked the beginning of a change in Galbatorix's fight against the elders. The two newcomers were indeed senior riders; they had trained alongside Carina and both had experience in combat and leadership. Galbatorix quickly came to appreciate their help; they had plenty of advice to offer and could predict the actions that the elders would probably take ahead of time. Of the two, Tranah was the bolder. She had a forthright, no-nonsense manner which perfectly matched her dragon, Aedua, who was solidly built and an aggressive fighter. Strein was quiet, even shy, but had a quick mind and was a cunning strategist. Galbatorix had accepted her and Tranah initially out of sympathy, but the more time he spent working with them the more he saw how valuable they were becoming to him. They both acted respectfully toward him, but unlike Morzan they did not need constant direction; they were able to work independently of him and were not afraid to argue with him or suggest a better course of action if they did not like the one he came up with. It was Tranah who advised him to actively seek out new followers rather than wait for them to come to him, 'Because there are plenty of other riders out there who feel as we do. Some of them are exiles, others are harbouring grudges against the elders. The elves are being more and more unfriendly toward humans, even human riders, and it's creating a lot of dissention. Human riders who are already resentful toward the elders will be pushed over the edge. They'll come and join you, my Lord. I promise you that. You have no idea how inspirational you are. A human who dared to defy the elves, who cut his ears and rebelled against the elders, and who managed to make them all look like fools again and again, and to kill elvish riders and get clean away when you were supposed to be a solitary fugitive barely managing to stay alive. You've become a legend. And that will bring followers to you.'

She was right. The day after she and Strein had taken their new oaths, the four riders left their camp in the Beors and moved on. Strein informed Galbatorix that a new governor had been placed at Teirm – three of them, in fact. All elves. The riders were taking no more chances, and according to Strein it was now forbidden for any of them to travel without at least one other rider for protection.

'But it won't help them,' she added confidently. 'Not with four of us working together.'

They planned their attack carefully, and well. Galbatorix and Shruikan showed themselves in the countryside not far from Teirm, making sure plenty of people saw them. The ploy worked. It drew out not just one of the riders based at Teirm, but all three. Unable to resist the temptation of the prospect of finally killing the Great Betrayer, they rashly flew out to hunt for him. As soon as they were well away from an easy escape route, the trap was sprung. Galbatorix, Morzan, Tranah and Strein attacked, ambushing the three elves at a mountain pass.

It worked perfectly. The riders were all killed after a short but vicious fight, and afterwards their killers vanished once again, leaving only silent corpses to tell the tale of what had happened.

It was an important victory for Galbatorix. Soon word would spread of the Great Betrayer's latest battle and how he had, once again, got clean away. And now he was no longer working with just one ally. Now there were three, and two of them were well-known and highly respected riders with long records of good leadership and valour in battle. He had gone from being a solitary and elusive assassin to the leader of a group of dangerous rebels. This was beginning to turn into a true war, and one the elders were still unable to fight effectively.

After the deaths of the three riders, which came to be referred to as the Teirm Assassinations, they fled to an isolated spot in the Du Weldenvarden forest and lay low there for a few days. During this time Galbatorix contacted Durza again. He rose early one morning while the others were still asleep, and slipped off into the forest to a spot where there was a small pool of water by a river. He sat down by it and splashed his face, then spread his hand over the water. 'Draumr kópa.'

The pool went dark. He concentrated on Durza, and after a few moments the vision appeared. The Shade was sitting somewhere in what appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse, meditating by a fire. Galbatorix had seen him do this plenty of times in the past. It was the closest Shades ever came to sleep. What Durza was actually doing was drawing more energy from the fire to replenish his internal store of magic, something only a Shade could do.

Durza looked up sharply a few moments later, staring out of the pool at Galbatorix. _My Lord. It is good to see you. I have important news._

'Where are you?'

_Not far from Gil'ead. I have been into the city, in disguise. News has already reached us of what happened in Teirm. Congratulations on your victory, my Lord. They have begun calling you the Riders' Bane now._

'What's your news, Durza?' Galbatorix asked tersely.

Durza blinked slowly, like a lizard. _There are three riders being kept prisoner in the city,_ he said.

'What? Are you sure?'

_I have not seen them, but there are three dragons chained up in the castle and I could sense that they were bonded. There are two senior riders ruling the city, both elves. I suggest you investigate this. If you free the prisoners, they may choose to join you out of gratitude._

Galbatorix thought it over carefully. If there were other riders being kept prisoner in Gil'ead, it could only mean that they were in serious trouble. Normally a rider who was in some sort of strife would be recalled to Ilirea for punishment. If these three had been actually thrown into cells and their dragons chained up, if they were being treated like common criminals…

His instincts told him that something was up. He had better act quickly if he was going to, and even if the prisoners proved useless it would be another opportunity to attack the riders and demonstrate his power.

'I'm coming to join you,' he told Durza. 'Wait for me.'

Durza nodded. _I will keep an eye on the horizon, my Lord._

The vision faded away, and Galbatorix stood up, dusting the leaf-litter off his robe. He returned to the camp, his boots making virtually no sound on the forest floor. Moving silently didn't take any effort any more; he had been doing it for so long that it had become second nature.

The others were awake by the time he returned to the camp. He rummaged in a pack and found a stale loaf of bread, then sat down by the fire to toast it. 'Good morning, everyone.'

Morzan yawned and mumbled something.

'I've got news,' Galbatorix went on, ignoring him. 'We're going to Gil'ead.'

Tranah paused in the act of taking the lid off a flask of water. 'Why?'

'My source has told me there are three riders being kept prisoner there,' said Galbatorix. He still hadn't revealed Durza's existence, and whenever he shared some piece of information gained from him he simply referred to him as "my source". The others were curious but respected the need for secrecy.

Strein rubbed her eyes. 'What? Riders?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Apparently they're locked up in the castle, and their dragons are outside in chains.'

There was a muttering from the other three. Shruikan stirred and growled softly.

'No-one should ever chain up a dragon,' said Tranah. 'What were they thinking?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Who knows? But it's got to be something serious. Now, there are two senior riders in Gil'ead, both elves, once again. I say we launch an assault on the castle. Direct, open, and brutal. It will demonstrate that we're not afraid of them, and nor are we afraid to attack in daylight.'

Strein looked dubious. 'Risky.'

'You don't win wars unless you take some risks,' said Galbatorix. 'We outnumber them four to two. Shruikan can summon up the storm again, which will put them at a disadvantage.'

'It could work,' said Tranah. 'If we plan carefully.'

'Morzan, what d'you think?' said Galbatorix.

Morzan grunted. 'I think it's a good idea. I'm not gonna leave those poor devils in a dungeon to rot, or worse. If we set 'em free, they'll join us, sure thing.'

'I agree,' said Strein.

'Then it's settled,' said Galbatorix. 'Does anyone here know the layout of the castle?'

'I do,' said Strein. 'Here, give me that stick.' Tranah passed it to her, and she used it to scratch a rough outline of the castle in the dirt, indicating the layout of the towers and defences, and how the city fitted around it. '…as far as I remember, the dungeons are just under _here_, the training yard is _here_, and this bit here is the banqueting hall. And there, right on the West wall, that's the dragon roost. And there, this patch here on the North side, that's the barracks. If we come in from here and here, we should have them surrounded. What do you think, Galbatorix?'

Galbatorix examined the crude map and scratched his beard thoughtfully. 'The dragons will be roosting if we attack in the evening. Tranah, Strein, you and I will attack them. If we can take them out, the battle will be over before it's begun. But if the riders are close enough to get to them before we can do that, we back off and hit them with magic. Shruikan will call up the storm, which should keep them grounded. As for you, Morzan, you and Idün break into the dungeons. Tear down the outer wall. The more damage we cause, the better. Get them out of there, fast as you can, and get them to help you set the dragons free if you can. If all goes well, I'll come to help you. Understood?'

The others nodded. 'I have an idea,' said Tranah.

'Out with it, then.'

'Aedua's more than strong enough to carry a heavy load,' said Tranah. 'And Talziri too. If we can find some good-sized boulders, we can drop them onto the dragon roost before we attack. If we hit our target, it should be a perfect way to cause some damage and put fear into them at the same time. If we're lucky we might even kill one of them.'

Galbatorix mulled it over. 'That's a good idea, Tranah. If we only had the materials we could use firebombs instead.'

Tranah shrugged. 'Why not just use magic? Set them ablaze before we drop them. It should have more or less the same effect, especially if they shatter when they land.'

'Perfect,' said Morzan. He grinned. 'Knew you'd come in useful, Tran.'

Tranah nudged him hard in the ribs. 'I thought you'd like that idea. My Lord Galbatorix, what do you think?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'That's a great idea, Tranah. We'll do it. Does anyone else have anything to add?'

'I'm not sure I like the idea of goin' in to get the prisoners out on my own,' said Morzan, while behind him Idün rustled her wings nervously. 'Can't one of you come with me?'

'We can't,' said Tranah. 'We'll have our hands full dealing with the elves.'

Galbatorix paused as a thought occurred to him. 'Well,' he said slowly. 'There _is_ something…'

'What?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix hesitated, and then decided it was time to take the plunge. 'My source is close to Gil'ead right now. We're going to meet him before we go in. He can help you.'

They looked interested at that. 'Who is he, my Lord?' said Strein. 'Another rider?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'Not a rider, no. I'm a little hesitant about this, to tell you the truth. You won't like him. But he's very powerful in magic, more so than a lot of riders, and he's sworn an oath to work for me. If I ask him, he'll help us.'

'Well who is he if he's not a rider?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix hesitated over this, but finally decided it would be better for them to know the truth before actually meeting Durza in person. 'He's a Shade,' he said at last.

Their faces fell. _'What?'_ said Morzan.

'A _Shade?'_ said Tranah. 'You must be joking!'

'I'm not,' said Galbatorix. 'His name is Durza.'

'But… how on earth did you get a Shade to take an oath of loyalty?' said Tranah.

'Durza hates the elders just as we do,' said Galbatorix. 'They've been persecuting him ever since he was bor – uh, came into being.'

'Well of course they have!' Morzan exclaimed. 'He's a bloody _Shade,_ for the gods' sakes! How could you even contemplate working with one?'

'I don't fully trust him,' Galbatorix admitted. 'But we need all the help we can get, and Durza has proven very useful. He's been sending me all the latest news. That's how I've known about what's going on out here.'

The others muttered. 'I don't like this,' said Strein. 'I don't like this at all.'

'Why not?' said Galbatorix.

She looked at him as if he'd just grown a second head. 'Are you mad? Shades are _evil.'_

'Oh,' said Galbatorix. 'Really? How do you know? Have you ever met one.'

Strein hesitated. 'Well…'

'See?' said Galbatorix, as if that settled it.

'No, not really,' said Tranah.

'Well, I've spent time with Shades,' said Galbatorix. 'Two of them, to be exact. And do you know what? They were lovers.'

Morzan stared at him. 'What?'

'It amazed me too,' said Galbatorix. 'But it's true. Rangda and Durza, two Shades in love. I saw it with my own eyes. It threw my whole perception of them into confusion. If Shades are evil, how can they feel love? No, Shades aren't evil. I don't even believe there's any such thing as evil, at least outside of stories. They're different from us, that's all. But, of course, the elders don't like things that are different, do they?'

There was silence, and Galbatorix looked challengingly at his three fellow riders.

'All right then,' Tranah said eventually. 'If he's sworn loyalty to you, I trust him. But don't expect me to try and be friends with him.'

'I really don't think he cares about that sort of thing,' said Galbatorix. 'He's very emotionless.'

'If he'll help us, I'll let him do that no argument,' said Morzan. 'I just hope you know what you're doing, Galbatorix, because if he turns on you…'

'Durza found me when I was nearly dead from starvation,' said Galbatorix. 'He could easily have killed me then, but he didn't. And not even Shades can break oaths made in the ancient language.'

'But what about the spell you used on us?' said Strein.

'Durza doesn't know how to use it,' said Galbatorix. 'Only I do. No-one else. I can promise you that.'

'All right, then,' said Strein. 'Just watch your back.'

'Oh I will,' Galbatorix said grimly. 'I don't think I need to learn _that_ particular lesson again.'

Once they had eaten they packed up the camp, and once they had concealed all signs that they had been there they saddled up and departed.

The flight to Gil'ead was a relatively short one, and thankfully it was uneventful. They halted at the very edge of the forest, among some abandoned farmland, and there Galbatorix found the collapsing house where Durza was waiting. The Shade had sensed his presence and stood up to welcome the four riders. He bowed to Galbatorix. 'My Lord. It is good to see you again.'

'Hello, Durza,' said Galbatorix, warily scanning the inside of the building for any sign of danger.

'You can relax,' said Durza. 'There are no people for miles. So…' his blood-coloured eyes turned toward Morzan, Tranah and Strein, who tensed automatically. 'These are the followers you have told me about.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'This is Morzan, and these are Tranah and Strein. Morzan, Tranah, Strein, this is Durza.'

There was an uncomfortable silence, but then Tranah came forward and inclined her head politely to Durza. 'I am pleased to meet you, Lord Durza,' she said. 'Forgive us if we are impolite to you, but…'

'I am used to tasting fear in others,' Durza said in a flat, metallic voice. 'Do not apologise for this, Shur'tugal. The good opinions of other people mean nothing to me. Now, have you made your plans, my Lord Galbatorix?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'We're going to free the prisoners, and kill the elves at the same time.'

'Tell me your plan,' said Durza.

Galbatorix did so, quickly and efficiently. Durza listened, emotionless as always, taking it all in. 'So what would you have me do, my Lord?' he said afterward.

'You'll help Morzan to set the prisoners free,' said Galbatorix. 'Idün will carry you.'

Morzan looked aghast when he heard this, but before he could protest Galbatorix added; 'And you'll do what he tells you to do, understood?'

Durza nodded. 'I hear and obey.'

Morzan was unable to stifle a grin. 'All right, then, Shade. Let's go.'

They left the farmhouse with Galbatorix leading the way, and in spite of the fact that the landscape was deserted, they were careful to be stealthy, running between patches of shelter until they reached the relative safety of the forest. There the dragons were waiting for them. Without further ado they took all their excess baggage and hid it, keeping only their weapons. Galbatorix got onto Shruikan's back and secured himself with the leg-straps of the saddle he'd made for him. Once Tranah, Strein and Morzan were mounted and Durza had settled himself behind Morzan – much to Morzan's apparent discomfort – Shruikan took off and they followed.

The four dragons flew as high as they dared, beating their wings hard for extra height, and once they were high enough to avoid being spotted from the ground they set off toward Gil'ead. It was past noon by this time, and when Gil'ead appeared on the horizon it was beginning to grow dark. Galbatorix looked ahead at the city as it drew ever nearer, and estimated that they would reach it within less than half an hour. _'All right,'_ he told Shruikan. _'It's time to begin.'_

Shruikan shared a feeling of excitement and aggression. _'Time to bring down the storm.'_

Galbatorix melded his consciousness with that of the black dragon, and, working together, they began to summon up the power that was in Shruikan's blood.

The sky over Gil'ead grew darker and darker, as clouds began to gather. The first flashes of lightning flickered amid the greyness, and Galbatorix breathed in deeply, preparing himself for what was to come. Aedua and Talziri, the green and brown dragons, descended at full speed. Swooping low over the ground just outside the city, where there was a quarry, they each seized a man-sized boulder and flew up and over Gil'ead. Shruikan followed from above, as fast as he could go. Below, the castle was within striking distance. They could see the shapes of the two dragons up on the roost. Aedua and Talziri flew over the castle, then wheeled around and came back. As the passed over head the second time, they let go of the boulders, which dropped, bursting into flames in midair.

Their aim was perfect. The two boulders struck the dragon roost right in the centre, and exploded in red-hot shrapnel.

Shruikan did not wait to see what effect this had had on the two enemy dragons. The storm closed in, and the black dragon folded his wings and dropped out of the sky like an arrow. He hit one of the dragons square in the back, and his claws ripped deep into her body, breaking her spine almost instantly. She screamed and folded up, still alive but unable to move her hind legs, and as her companion rushed to attack Shruikan, Aedua and Talziri got him from behind.

The two roosting dragons didn't stand a chance. Shruikan finished off the one with the broken back, and Aedua and Talziri made short work of the other.

It gave Morzan all the time he needed. Idün landed at the base of the Western wall, and Morzan and Durza jumped down. They had discussed what to do during the journey, and without hesitating they raised their hands and hit the wall with a combined blast of magic. Massive cracks spread over its entire surface, from the ground up to the ramparts, and then Idün charged forward. She rammed her head into the stone, and the wall collapsed inwards with a deafening rumble. The red dragon thrust through the rubble with her claws, exposing the dungeon corridor beyond. But the attack was not going to go unchallenged. Soldiers poured out of the gate not far away, and ran to attack. Morzan and Durza were ready for them. Durza blasted the front ranks with magic, killing a dozen of them almost instantly. When Morzan came to fight beside him, the Shade said; 'Go! I will fight them alone – find the prisoners!'

Morzan nodded and dashed off.

From his vantage point up on the dragon roost, Galbatorix saw what was going on. He scanned the castle below and eventually spotted the training yard. There, sure enough, three dragons were sitting together in a huddle. _'There they are,'_ he told Shruikan. _'Let's go.'_

Shruikan kicked off from the roost and flew down to the yard, landing not far from the three chained dragons. There was a contingent of guards there, but they fled as soon as they saw the black dragon. Galbatorix let them go. He jumped down from Shruikan's back and approached the three dragons. They were much smaller than he had expected – too small to be ridden, in fact. Each was about the size of a donkey. They could only be about four or five months old, at the most. There were chains on their wings and legs, and more around their necks, which were attached to a massive iron ring set into the wall. When they saw Galbatorix coming they blinked and cringed away from him.

Galbatorix halted at a respectful distance from them, and reached out with his mind. The three dragons had magic bound around their minds, trapping them inside their own heads and preventing them from speaking, but Galbatorix focused his own magic and dissolved them. Almost instantly, he was rewarded with a rush of thought that flowed straight into his mind, making him wince. But he let the three dragons in so that he could hear their voices, which he did.

'_Thankyou! Oh, thankyou!'_

'_Please, help us!'_

'_Set us free! They'll kill us!'_

Their voices were eager, but frightened. Galbatorix signalled mentally to them to calm down, and when they fell silent he said; _'Where are your riders?'_

'_In the dungeons-,'_

'_They're going to kill them! Please, help them, I'm begging you.'_

'_Don't worry,'_ Galbatorix said quickly. _'My friends are doing that right now. Listen to me. We're going to have to get out of here quickly. If you want to escape, then do exactly what I tell you. Understand?'_

The three dragons nodded vigorously. Without futher ado, Galbatorix stepped forward and spoke a spell over the chains, which broke and fell away. The dragons shook them off gratefully, stretching their wings and nuzzling each other joyfully. Then they turned to Galbatorix, waiting for his command. He ran back to Shruikan and climbed back into the saddle. _'Follow us,'_ he told the dragons.

Shruikan took off, and the three dragons followed. They flew up and over the walls, dodging the arrows that were being loosed at them, and once they were out of range Galbatorix pointed East. _'Fly away,'_ he told the dragons. _'Don't stop until you're well out into the countryside. I'll bring your riders to you. Understood?'_

The three dragons weren't happy about that. _'No,'_ one of them said. _'I'm not leaving without Tuomas.'_

'_I'm not leaving either,'_ the second one said.

Galbatorix sighed. _'All right,'_ he said. _'Circle overhead. Make sure you stay out of range. When we fly out of here, follow us.'_

They agreed to do that, and Galbatorix directed Shruikan to fly down to the West wall, where the gaping hole created by Morzan and Durza was now at the centre of a fierce and nasty fight between the soldiers from the castle and Tranah and Strein, who had gone to join Durza. Aedua and Talziri were swooping low over the castle, snatching bowmen from the ramparts and sending them tumbling to their deaths, and using pieces of rubble as missiles to wreak as much destruction on the castle as they could.

Shruikan landed by the hole in the wall and charged at the soldiers, decimating them. The rest, seeing sense, ran away into the city, and the black dragon returned to the hole in the wall, where Tranah and Strein were resting from their exertions. Both were wounded, but neither one seriously, and Durza was leaning against the wall by the hole, expressionless but a little paler than usual.

Galbatorix got down off Shruikan and went to join them. 'Where's Morzan?'

'Still inside,' said Tranah. 'I'd better go help him…' without waiting for an answer, she climbed over the heap of rubble and vanished inside. Galbatorix was about to follow her, but a moment later she returned. Morzan was with her, and following him at a respectful distance were three teenage humans; two boys and a girl.

Morzan was carrying a rider's sword with an orange blade. There was a cut on his forehead, but he was grinning with triumph. 'Got 'em, sir,' he said to Galbatorix. 'Now let's get out of here. You three, this is Lord Galbatorix. You do what he tells yeh, understand?'

Galbatorix wasted no time. 'One of you, go with Morzan. You, go with Tranah. And you, come with me.'

The three teenagers hesitated, but the girl came to Galbatorix, prompting her two friends to separate, one going to Tranah and the other to Morzan. Morzan lifted his new companion onto Idün's back, and once he had joined him in the saddle he glanced down at Durza and said; 'Sorry, mate, looks like there's no room for you.'

'I will go on foot,' Durza said briefly. 'I will see you again later.' Without waiting for an answer, he loped away into the city.

Galbatorix hurried to Shruikan and bade the dragon kneel, which he did. Then he turned to the girl and said; 'Climb up, don't be scared.'

The girl glanced at him. She was pale and sweating, evidently terrified.

'It's all right,' Galbatorix said gently. 'He won't hurt you, I promise. Here, let me help you.' He took hold of the girl's shoulders and helped her into the saddle. She clung onto Shruikan's neck, causing the black dragon to shift and growl softly. Galbatorix got up behind her, reaching around her to take hold of the rope around Shruikan's neck and hold her in place. 'Just hang on,' he said.

Shruikan took off. Below, Aedua and Talziri had returned for their riders, and Tranah had persuaded her charge to climb onto Aedua's back. Talziri and Aedua took to the air, following Shruikan and Idün, and the four dragons flew up and away from Gil'ead, buffeted a little by the wind, but flying with confidence. The three small dragons saw their riders and followed, and so Galbatorix made his escape from Gil'ead, leaving a scene of destruction behind him.


	31. Lessons

Chapter Thirty-One

Lessons

The dragons flew as hard and fast as they could, wanting to put plenty of distance between themselves and the devastated castle as they could. The three youngsters had trouble keeping up, but plucked up the courage to fly in closer and ride the slipstream which the larger ones created, although all three of them kept well away from Shruikan.

The black dragon led the way as always, heading this time toward the coast. They flew through the night and finally landed on an isolated beach, too tired to travel further.

Galbatorix, Morzan, Tranah and Strein dismounted, helping their new companions down as politely as they could. The three young riders ran to their dragons, embracing them tightly before they began to reassure each other.

Galbatorix sighed and walked a little stiffly to a spot on the beach that was above the tideline. He wearily conjured up a fire, and he and his followers began to set up camp with the ease of people who had done it a hundred times before. Shruikan, Aedua, Talziri and Idün spaced themselves in a circle around the camp, curling up on the sand to rest, and Tranah began preparing some food while her friends sat down by the fire. Galbatorix, meanwhile, approached the three teenagers, who watched him warily.

'It's all right,' Galbatorix told them, using the ancient language. 'You're _safe._'

They blinked uncomprehendingly. Each one was keeping close to his or her dragon for comfort, and all three had a jittery look about them. Finally the girl said; 'Are you… are you… are you the Great Betrayer?'

Galbatorix scratched his beard. 'I prefer to be called Galbatorix, if you don't mind. I'm sorry about the rush, but we couldn't afford to stay there any longer. But you're in no danger here, unless you decide to attack us. Would you care to join us by the fire? There's food. Not very good food, but it's edible. You look like you're in need of something to eat.' When they didn't move straight away, he said; 'Come on, I won't bite,' and walked off toward the fire.

They followed, a little reluctantly, and sat down a short way from the fire, keeping their distance from the older riders and their dragons. Their own dragons sat themselves protectively behind their riders, and the little group stayed where they were, huddled together as if for protection.

Galbatorix watched them and sighed, but left them alone. When the food was ready he took some over and offered it to them. 'Here, eat.'

They accepted it, and ate ravenously. Galbatorix sat down opposite them and created a second fire in the middle of this new, smaller circle. The three teenagers drew back nervously at the sight of it, but relaxed when they realised that, though it looked strange, it was warm and dry just like an ordinary fire.

Galbatorix found himself smiling a little at their expressions. 'All right,' he said, once they had relaxed and begun warming their hands by the fire. 'You'd better tell me about yourselves. What are your names, and why were you locked up?'

The friendliness in his tone seemed to reassure them.

'I'm Tuomas,' one of the boys said. 'And this is Ithír,' he added, obviously meaning the female dragon crouched behind him. She was bright golden-yellow with orange eyes and wing membranes.

'And I'm Kaelyn,' said the girl. She had light brown hair and grey eyes, and her dragon too was grey; a steel-tinted tone unlike anything Galbatorix had seen before. 'My dragon's name is Sartago.'

'And I'm Gern,' said the other boy. There was something oddly familiar about him. His dragon was orange, and to Galbatorix's surprise she reached out mentally and said; _'My name is Liahdorus.'_

'I'm pleased to meet you,' Galbatorix said politely. 'As you've already heard, my name is Galbatorix. Galbatorix Taranisäii. Or, as some people call me, the Great Betrayer.'

'You're different from what I thought you'd be like,' Gern said unexpectedly.

'Oh?' said Galbatorix. 'What were you expecting?'

'Well…' Gern looked uncomfortable. 'You're younger than I thought. And also… well, you know…'

'Go on.'

'Well, they say you're insane,' said Gern in a hesitating kind of way.

Galbatorix chuckled. 'Do I look like it?'

'No,' Kaelyn broke in. 'You don't at all. And you saved our lives. Thankyou.'

Galbatorix inclined his head graciously. 'I was told you were being held prisoner in the castle, so I came to see if I could help you.'

'But why?' said Tuomas. 'For all you know, we could be criminals.'

'Who am I to judge?' said Galbatorix. 'As far as the entire country is concerned, I'm a criminal too. Worse than a criminal, actually. If they caught me I'd be hung, drawn and quartered. Along with my friends. Now, what were you locked up for? What did you do?'

They glanced at each other, evidently trying to decide who would tell the story. Finally Kaelyn said; 'We tried to run away.'

'Why?' said Galbatorix.

'Because… well, we became riders only a few months ago,' said Kaelyn. 'We went to Ellesméra with the others and we got chosen… then we were sent to Ilirea to be trained.'

'Who was your master?'

Kaelyn hesitated. 'We didn't really have one. It was all a bit… we were meant to be apprenticed to elder Oromis, but he wouldn't teach us properly. We took the oaths and everything, and Oromis started teaching us swordplay, but he wouldn't tell us how to use magic. When we asked why, he wouldn't tell us. And then he just left us. We never found out why; he just stopped teaching us, and we had nothing to do for weeks. Then Menulis said he'd teach us, but-,'

'He was a bastard,' Gern complained. 'He called me a low-born piece of human filth when I said I wanted to learn about magic. All the elvish apprentices were learning it, but they wouldn't do it for us. And then Menulis passed us on to Yansan, and he started teaching us magic and the ancient language and stuff, and everything was going fine-,'

'-And then Vrael came and shouted at him,' said Tuomas. 'Said he didn't want us learning that stuff because humans couldn't be trusted with power. And when I complained he hit me.'

Galbatorix winced. 'He _hit_ you?'

'In the face,' said Tuomas. 'It left a big bruise. Anyway… after that we got sent away from Ilirea and had to live in Ellesméra for ages. The elves treated us like scum.'

'It was ridiculous,' said Kaelyn. 'We were meant to be riders, but no-one would teach us anything! We were just being shunted around the place like we were useless. I hated it in Ellesméra. I couldn't stop being afraid that the elves were going to kill me.'

'So we ran away,' said Gern. 'It was my idea. I said; "if they don't want us here, then we'll go".'

'So we left Ellesméra one night and ran away,' said Kaelyn. 'We didn't know where we should go.'

'And then when we were near a village called Yazuac we were caught and taken to Gil'ead,' said Tuomas. 'And they threw us in a cell and said we were all traitors and we'd be executed as soon as Vrael gave the order.'

Galbatorix pulled a disgusted face. 'So that's what they're doing now, is it? Gods, I never thought I could hate the elves more than I already did, but now I can see I was wrong. So you never did anything wrong? Never argued, never disobeyed orders?'

'Never, sir,' said Kaelyn. 'We just wanted to _learn,_ but they wouldn't let us. Just because we were human. How is that our fault?'

'It isn't,' said Galbatorix. 'Being human is nothing to be ashamed of, and never let anyone tell you otherwise.'

'But the elves are better than us,' Tuomas said doubtfully. 'Everyone knows that.'

'They're not,' said Galbatorix. 'Not where it counts. They're strong and fast and they live longer than humans, but what does that matter? I'm human and I'm proud of it, because I have something the elves don't.'

'What's that, sir?' said Kaelyn.

Galbatorix put a hand on his chest. 'I have a heart,' he said. 'It might be a little rough around the edges, it might have a few holes in it, but it's still mine. And that's why I'm here and doing what I'm doing. Because Alagaësia should not be ruled by elves. Humans should be governed by humans, and elves by elves. How can elves lead humans? They have no understanding of us at all.'

'But plenty of the riders are human,' Tuomas pointed out. 'Even two of the elders are.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'They might have been human once, but they're not any more. Don't you see? The elves train new riders. They make you give up eating meat, give up having gods, give up everything that makes you human. Unless you become like them, they won't accept you. They tried to do it to me, but I wouldn't let them. I fought back. See?' he pulled back his hair and showed them his mutilated ears.

Kaelyn shuddered. 'What happened to them?'

'They became pointed after I was made a full rider,' said Galbatorix. 'And I cut them off.'

'Didn't it _hurt?'_ said Gern.

'It did, yes. But if pain comes from fighting for something worthwhile, you can bear it.'

'What should we do, sir?' Tuomas asked. 'Where can we go now? They'll be looking for us, and they'll kill us if they find us.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'That's up to you,' he said. 'I'm not going to force you to do anything. If you want me to set you free of your oaths of loyalty, I can do that for you. You'll never have to obey the elders again.'

'Can you really do that, sir?' said Kaelyn.

Galbatorix nodded. 'I did it for my friends.'

'Set us free,' Gern said immediately. 'I don't want to work for the elders any more.'

'Me neither,' said Kaelyn.

'And me,' said Tuomas.

'All right,' said Galbatorix. 'Hold still.' He spread his hand over them and recited the spell. It worked, and afterward he said; 'There. You're free. You can go wherever you like and do whatever you choose.'

'Thankyou, sir,' said Kaelyn.

Gern, however, looked less than happy. 'I hate this,' he burst out. 'It's not fair! I wanted to be a rider ever since Berim told me about what it was like in Ellesméra, and-,'

'Berim?' said Galbatorix.

'My brother,' said Gern. 'He said-,'

Galbatorix laughed incredulously. 'Well I'll be damned. Berim! I remember him!'

'You know him?' said Gern.

'Of course I do. We met in Ellesméra on the day I became a rider. I liked him.'

'He never said anything about you,' said Gern.

'Ah,' said Galbatorix, a little sadly. 'Yes. I imagine a lot of people are pretending they don't know me any more.'

Gern watched him closely. 'You really _aren't_ like I expected,' he said. 'Not at all. You're so… how old are you?'

'Twenty-one,' said Galbatorix.

'I'm seventeen,' said Gern.

Galbatorix blinked in surprise at that. He looked at the three young riders, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was barely any older than they were. But they looked so young. He could not imagine a time when he had been like them, but it must have happened.

'You're just not _evil,'_ Gern went on, oblivious. 'I mean, you look kind of scary, but you don't act like it. I mean… whenever people talk about the Great Betrayer, I think of some kind of monster. Some giggling lunatic with red eyes or something. But now I can see you, you're just… well, a man.'

'Sorry to be such a disappointment,' said Galbatorix, caught between amusement and alarm at this description.

Kaelyn giggled. 'You're funny.'

She sounded very much like Flell when she said this, and Galbatorix had a sudden pang of guilt and sadness. 'Well,' he said gruffly. 'I suppose these things get built up over time. But half the things you've heard about me almost certainly aren't true.'

'What _is_ true about it, then?' said Tuomas.

'Well, what did they tell you?' said Galbatorix.

'Uh…'

'Go ahead,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm not expecting fulsome praise or anything, you know.'

'They say you were just an apprentice like us once,' said Tuomas. 'You went to be trained by Vrael himself, and you were so strong and clever you finished your training in a few weeks. Everyone liked you; they said you'd be an elder one day, but you were always in trouble. There's this tree in Ellesméra, a big old oak, they say you made it grow with magic.'

'That's true enough,' said Galbatorix. 'About the tree, I mean. It was a stupid mistake. I was showing off. Nearly killed myself. And yes, Vrael was my mentor. But I definitely didn't finish my training in a few weeks. It took a year. Go on.'

'And then you were sent away to govern Teirm,' said Tuomas. 'It was amazing, everyone said, because riders who just got trained don't get given positions like that. Not on their own. But then one day you and a couple of friends went off adventuring in the North, and you got attacked by urgals, and your dragon died, and you went insane and came back to Ilirea and asked them to give you another dragon, and after they said no you stole someone else's and started killing other riders 'cause you were insane and thought it was their fault what happened to your dragon.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'My gods, they really made sure everyone heard that pack of lies, didn't they?'

'So it's not true?' said Tuomas.

'Absolutely not,' said Galbatorix, a little more forcefully than he needed to. 'Yes, I governed Teirm, and for quite a long time. But I was betrayed. I was in love with another rider; her name was Flell. We were trained together. I loved her very much. But she betrayed me. She lied to the elders; told them I raped her, and they believed it because they didn't trust me. They called me back to Ilirea and were going to have me executed, but I ran away. I went North to hide. The elders sent two other riders after me, and they killed my dragon. I won't lie to you; I did go insane when that happened. I killed them both, but now I hardly remember it. I was lost for a long time, and nearly starved to death, but I survived. Then I was caught and taken to Ilirea.'

'What happened then?' said Kaelyn. She and her two friends were all looking very apprehensive.

'I'll show you what happened then,' said Galbatorix. He undid the front of his robe and pulled it off, then twisted around so they could see his back.

Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn all breathed in sharply and uttered exclamations of horror.

'They had me whipped,' said Galbatorix, turning back and beginning to put his robe back on. He rolled up his sleeves and held out his arms so they could see the faint scars on his wrists. 'Those were left by the manacles. And afterwards I was thrown in a cell, half-dead with hardly any skin left on my back. In the morning they were going to kill me. The traitor's death. Hanging, drawing and quartering. Not nice.'

'Oh gods,' said Kaelyn. 'How could they _do_ that to you?'

'Because of something I have no control over,' said Galbatorix. 'Because of how I was born and what I was born as.'

'But that's not _fair,'_ said Kaelyn.

Galbatorix snorted. 'The elders rule this country, why should they care whether something is fair or not? As far as they were concerned, I was nothing but a pathetic piece of humanity they had no further use for. And to be honest, I didn't care. I'd lost my dragon, the woman I loved had betrayed me, I had no friends left, and I was still only half-sane. But I was wrong to think I had no friends left. Two of them rescued me from the cells and let me go. One of them was Morzan.' He nodded toward Morzan, who was by now dozing by the fire. 'So I escaped with my life, thanks to Morzan. I went into hiding and eventually I recovered. The madness left me and I built up my strength. After that I had nothing left to live for but revenge. And _that_ is why I'm the Great Betrayer.' He pulled a pained, disgusted face. 'They call me the betrayer, but I learned how to betray from them. And I learned it very well.'

'That's terrible,' Gern said in a low voice. 'I'm so sorry for what they did to you, sir.'

'It's not your fault,' said Galbatorix. 'But you see, no matter what happens, I'm always willing to help people the elders have betrayed. Like you and your friends. So if there's anything you want from me, just ask.'

Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn were silent for a time.

'We can't be much use to anyone,' Gern said eventually. 'We don't know anything. Without training, we're useless.'

'Sir,' Kaelyn piped up. 'Will… will _you_ teach us? Like a master?'

The other two looked surprised for a moment, but then Gern said; 'Yes, would you?'

'They say you know things,' said Tuomas. 'Things no-one else knows, spells no-one else can use. You even beat Vrael in swordplay, I heard. You could be our master.'

'Are you sure?' said Galbatorix. 'I really don't… if you decide to stay with me, it won't be an easy life. My friends and I live on the run. And I've never really taught anyone before…'

'I don't want to be a nuisance to you, sir,' Kaelyn said pleadingly. 'But we've got nowhere else to go. And even if we go off on our own, we'll have to live on the run anyway. Besides, we wouldn't stand a chance. We don't even have swords, and our dragons are too small to ride.'

'Please let us stay with you,' said Tuomas. 'On our own, we'll die.'

Galbatorix hesitated, but he knew there was only one choice he could realistically make. 'All right,' he said. 'I'll do my best to train you if that's what you want. And I'm sure my friends will be willing to lend a hand. But you'll have to work hard and be careful. This isn't a game. If they catch us, we die.'

'We understand,' said Kaelyn. 'We're not stupid.'

'Of course you aren't,' said Galbatorix. 'If you were, you wouldn't have survived this long.'

'Thankyou, sir,' said Tuomas. 'For everything you've done for us. I'll do whatever you ask me to, and Ithír will too.'

'And Leahdorus and me will do the same,' said Gern.

'We all will,' said Kaelyn. '…Master Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix shook his head. '"Master Galbatorix". That's going to take some getting used to… well, you three had better get some rest now. As for me, I think I'll have a swim.'

He got up and padded away over the sand. Once he was at a respectful distance he took off his robe and boots, walked down to where the waves lapped at the shore, waded in and then plunged face-first into the sea. They could just see him swimming out beyond the white breakers, and then he was gone.

'My gods,' said Gern. 'The Great Betrayer is our master. Funny old thing, life, isn't it?'

Kaelyn sighed. 'He was nothing like I thought he would be. I thought he'd be dark and strong, but I never thought he'd be so kind. Or so _handsome_,' she added wistfully.

The two boys sniggered at her.

Kaelyn ignored them. 'I'm going to get some sleep, if you don't mind,' she said, and curled up against Sartago's flank. The grey dragon spread his wing over her, and not long later she was asleep.

The three apprentices were woken up at dawn the next day by Galbatorix, who nudged Tuomas with his boot and cheerfully said; 'All right, that's enough dreaming for one day. Up you get, come on.'

Tuomas groaned and rolled over. 'Is it day yet?' he mumbled.

'It's been day for at least half an hour,' said Galbatorix. 'Hurry up, or you'll miss breakfast.'

Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn roused themselves, mumbling and irritable, but respectful of their new master, who seated himself by the fire with his three friends, who were already up, and gestured at them to join him. Kaelyn, Tuomas and Gern did so readily enough, and Galbatorix introduced them to his friends. 'This is Morzan, my old friend, who I already told you about, this is Tranah, and this is Strein. You three, these are Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas. Morzan, you're not going to believe this, but Gern here is Berim's younger brother. You remember Berim, don't you?'

Morzan yawned. 'Yeah… I remember. Never shut up for a minute. Had a good sense of humour, though. I was sad for him when he got sent home like that. Never did go and visit him…' he looked at Gern. 'Yeh… I can see it now. You look like him. How is he, then?'

'He's good,' said Gern. 'Or he was the last time I saw him. He got married, you know.'

'Lucky him,' Morzan sighed. 'Sometimes I wish I could just go home and live like a normal person. I would've liked to be a father. Looks like that opportunity's passed me by, though.'

'Don't speak too soon,' said Galbatorix. 'You never know how things are going to play out. Anyway… you three, Gern and his friends have asked me to take them on as my apprentices. They've only been given a few scraps of training so far, nothing like what they should have had, so I'll need to teach them magic and the ancient language, among other things. If you'd be willing to help me, I'd appreciate it.'

'Of course I'll help,' said Tranah. 'I always used to wish I had an apprentice to teach. It'd be the closest I'll ever come to having a son or a daughter of my own.'

'I'll help,' Strein volunteered. 'What about you, Morzan?'

'Well,' Morzan grunted. 'I s'pose I could teach 'em a few things about fighting and whatnot. Never was any good at anything else.'

'I'm sure you'd be perfect for it,' said Galbatorix. 'You're one of the best fighters I know.'

They ate breakfast and chatted inconsequentially for a while, and afterwards Galbatorix got straight down to business. 'Now,' he said. 'I think we can be safe here for a day or so, so we may as well start now. Morzan, would you pass me that bag, please? Thankyou.' He opened the bag and rummaged around inside it. 'Now, you'll need swords if you're going to be proper riders. If I can just find the damn… ah, here we go.' He pulled out a long bundle wrapped in cloth and untied the rope tied around it. Half a dozen swords fell out onto the sand, shining in the light of the rising sun. Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas leaned forward to look at them, wide-eyed in wonder.

'Choose a sword,' Galbatorix told them. 'Whichever one you like.'

Gern reached out to touch the magnificent weapons, lifting them and turning them over to look at the hilts and the engravings on the blades. Kaelyn and Tuomas joined him, and after some indecision Gern picked up the orange-bladed sword Morzan had retrieved in Gil'ead the previous day and said; 'I'll take this one, since it matches Leahdorus.'

There were no grey blades, so Kaelyn settled for one that was dark blue with a gold hilt. Tuomas nearly selected a yellow one, but ended up choosing the solitary gold sword, unable to resist the shining blade.

Galbatorix bundled the rest of them away in the bag again, and picked up White Violence. 'Let's begin,' he said. 'Come with me.'

He led them to a spot well away from the camp, and began the lesson. He was uncertain as to exactly how he should go about it, but in the end, recalling how Vrael had taught him, he followed his former mentor's example and taught them a few basic moves which he had them practise until they were confident. Then he told Tuomas and Gern to pair up and spar together. Since Kaelyn was left without a partner, he had to be the one to spar with her, which he did as carefully as he could, making sure he moved slowly so he wouldn't accidentally hurt her. Kaelyn was hesitant at first, but once she was sure he wasn't a threat she began to move faster and more confidently. Galbatorix blocked every blow she aimed at him, which goaded her on, giving her advice and encouragement all the time. Kaelyn started to grin, evidently enjoying it.

'Come on!' Galbatorix said. 'You can go faster than that! See if you can land a blow on me.'

Kaelyn sped up obediently, but Galbatorix continued to block her with ease. 'Try harder,' he said. 'Pretend I'm someone you hate.'

Kaelyn lost her grin and started to scowl in concentration as she drove forward, swinging the blue sword with all her might. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get anywhere near to Galbatorix. He continued to encourage her, while White Violence flicked her sword aside, again and again, frustrating her. At last, Kaelyn decided to throw caution to the winds. She yelled and made a rush at him, in a reckless attack. Her sword found its way past White Violence and hit Galbatorix square in the arm.

'Ow!'

Kaelyn backed off, staring in horror. 'Oh my gods, I'm so sorry!'

Galbatorix dabbed at the cut on his arm. 'Ouch. Ooh, that stings.' He was about to heal it with a spell, but then stopped.

Kaelyn dropped her sword. 'Oh, gods, sir, I didn't mean to do that…'

Galbatorix looked at her. 'Don't be silly; you did very well. Rushing in like that is dangerous, but if your enemy isn't expecting it, it can work. It worked on Vrael. Now, would you come here please?'

Kaelyn came toward him, very hesitantly. Galbatorix rolled up the sleeve of his robe, exposing the cut on his arm. 'All right,' he said. 'There's another lesson here for you to learn. Tuomas, Gern, you should watch.'

The two boys came over, and Galbatorix said; 'Right. Do you know how to access your magic?'

'Yes,' said Kaelyn. 'Master Yansan taught us before Vrael stopped him.'

'So you know how the words work and how to concentrate and channel?'

'Yes sir. I haven't had much practise at it, though.'

'It'll do,' said Galbatorix. 'Here are the words you need to learn. Listen carefully. To heal an injury, you say "waíse heill". Repeat it, make sure you're pronouncing it properly.'

'Waíse heill,' said Kaelyn. She and her friends said it several times, and once Galbatorix was satisfied he said; 'Good. Now you, Kaelyn. Hold your hand over the cut and focus your magic. Don't try and force it; just relax and let it flow. It'll come naturally. When you feel ready, say the words. And don't panic.'

Kaelyn clasped her hands together. 'Are you sure, sir? What if I make a mistake?'

'I'll be fine,' said Galbatorix. 'Just relax and try it. Do you trust me?'

'I trust you,' said Kaelyn.

'Then do it.'

Kaelyn breathed deeply. 'All right.' She held out her right hand, letting it hover over the cut, fingers spread. For a few moments she stood still, eyes closed, not moving at all, obviously deep in concentration. Then she said; 'Waíse heill.'

Nothing happened for a moment or two, but then a faint glow of grey light appeared around the cut on Galbatorix's arm. It grew brighter, and, slowly but surely, the cut began to heal.

'Oh my gods, Kaelyn!' Gern exclaimed. 'You're doing it! It's working!'

Kaelyn's eyes snapped open. She saw what was happening, cried out in shock and withdrew her hand. The magic flickered and died, and Galbatorix yelped as pain shot through his arm. He hugged the limb to his chest and swore. '_Mae gen ti cont mawr drewllyd a fronnau flewog!_ Godsdammit that hurts!'

The three apprentices looked on, horrified, but Galbatorix relaxed eventually and let go of his arm. There was an ugly red scar where the cut had been. Kaelyn took one look at it and ran away.

Galbatorix set Tranah and Morzan to continuing the lesson with Tuomas and Gern, and set off after her. He eventually found her hiding among the dunes with Sartago, her dragon, sobbing into her hands. Galbatorix sat down beside her. 'Hey,' he said. 'Stop that. There's nothing to cry about.'

Kaelyn looked up at him. 'I'm so sorry, Master,' she almost wailed. 'I didn't – didn't _mean_ to. I'm so _stupid!'_

'No you're not,' Galbatorix said sharply. 'Stop it, Kaelyn, you're acting like a child.'

Kaelyn went silent, staring at him with as much shock than as if he had slapped her.

'Now listen,' said Galbatorix, keeping his voice kind but stern. 'Everyone makes mistakes. If you never get anything wrong then you don't have anything to learn. And you won't learn anything at all if you give up this easily.'

'But I _hurt_ you, sir,' said Kaelyn.

'Oh, don't worry about me,' said Galbatorix. 'It smarted a bit, but it didn't kill me. And another scar won't make much difference. You're not stupid, Kaelyn. You did very well. What happened was as much my fault as yours; I shouldn't have made you use that spell for the first time just like that without any proper preparation; I should've started you off with something simpler, but I just got it into my head that it was a good idea. Forgive me, Kaelyn, I'm not much of a teacher. But you're an excellent student.'

'I am?' said Kaelyn.

'Of course you are. You managed to hit me with your sword, and that's quite an accomplishment for a beginner. And you were handling your magic very well until you got distracted. I should've warned the other two to keep quiet, but oh well. Now, come on, let's get back to work. There's still a lot to do today.'

He got up and beckoned for Kaelyn to follow him, which she did, her confidence slowly returning. 'I'm sorry, Master,' she said. 'I'll try harder.'

'I know you will, Kaelyn,' said Galbatorix.

They spent the rest of that day with lessons. Galbatorix, Tranah and Morzan taught the three apprentices some more swordplay, and Morzan demonstrated some hand-to-hand combat with Tranah's help; the two of them wrestled each other on the sand, showing off various holds and blows and afterwards turning it into a contest when Tuomas and Gern started shouting to goad them on. Morzan won, tossing Tranah onto the ground with a powerful heave of his brawny arms and a triumphant shout. The onlookers applauded, and even Tranah joined in the laughter.

It was a warm day, and the atmosphere in the camp was cheerful, almost festive. When they broke for lunch, Tuomas remarked; 'You know, this doesn't feel like learning at all. It's too _fun_ to be learning.'

'I wish _my_ training had been fun,' Galbatorix said darkly. 'My master Vrael was a total bastard to me. Always moaning and whingeing and putting me down. When he wasn't making me feel useless, he was making me feel like punching him in the nose.'

'Oromis was just as bad,' said Morzan. 'He never shouted, but… he always talked to me like the whole time he was thinking how stupid I was and how much better than me he was. Not like he ever _said_ anything, but I knew he didn't like me.'

'Well, they're elves, aren't they?' said Galbatorix. 'I never met an elf who had a sense of humour. I always had a strange feeling that they were all the same person. They all look the same and they all act the same – like they think they're gods.'

'You won't catch _us_ acting like that,' Morzan assured the three students. 'I'm too dirty to mistake meself for a god.'

The others laughed.

'You've only got yourself to blame for that, Morzan,' said Galbatorix. 'You just can't be bothered to keep clean. When was the last time you combed your hair?'

'Look, I got better things to do than sit around straightening my hair like some ponce,' said Morzan. 'Just 'cause _you're_ always doing it.'

'Suit yourself,' said Galbatorix. 'Now… you three, once we've had lunch, it'll be time to move onto the next lesson. We've done enough swordplay for one day, so after you've done eating we'll start on the ancient language. Tuomas, Morzan will tutor you. Strein, you can take care of Gern… Kaelyn-,'

Kaelyn looked up expectantly.

'You can go with Tranah,' said Galbatorix. 'As for me, I'm going to go with Shruikan and scout around to make sure this place is secure. Everyone comfortable with that?'

'Fine,' said Tranah.

'Right,' said Galbatorix, standing up. 'If anything happens… I'll try and stay in mental range, all right?'

They nodded, and Galbatorix strode over to Shruikan and climbed into the saddle, and was gone in moments. The black dragon could still be seen, flying high overhead for a time, and then he flew out of sight.

Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas went with their tutors and spent the afternoon being coached in the ancient language, learning words and phrases which their teachers judged the most useful. Their dragons were free to interact with Talziri, Aedua and Idün, and after some initial tension the adults accepted them. Talziri was even playful, leading the youngsters in a chase around the beach, although all the dragons were careful to stay on the ground for safety's sake.

Kaelyn did her best to stay focused on what Tranah was telling her, but she continually glanced up at the sky, watching for Galbatorix's return. There was no sign of him.

In fact he did not return until it was nearly nightfall, when the afternoon's lessons were over and the group of riders had retired to the fireside to rest and eat.

There was a rush of cold air, and Shruikan suddenly appeared from out of the darkening sky, landing on the outskirts of the camp with only the faintest of sounds. The others looked around and relaxed when they saw Galbatorix get down off his back. He paused to adjust Shruikan's saddle and pat the dragon's neck before he walked rather stiffly toward the fire.

'How did it go, sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix yawned and stretched. 'Fine. There's no-one around for miles. Ah, gods, my legs feel like they're made of wood.' He sat down by the fire and accepted some food from Tranah. 'So, how did the lesson go?'

'Quite well,' said Tranah. 'Kaelyn has very good pronunciation. Not a bad memory, either.'

Kaelyn smiled shyly. 'I'm glad you're back, Master. I started to think you could be in trouble.'

Galbatorix yawned again and massaged his knees. 'That's very kind of you, Kaelyn. Tuomas, Gern, how did you go?'

'I can't say "brisingr" properly,' Tuomas moaned. 'It keeps coming out wrong.'

'Don't worry, you'll get there,' said Tranah. 'Practise is all it takes.'

'Strein had me try a spell,' said Gern. 'Lifting stones. It was really easy! Look, see? I can do it-,' he pointed at a nearby pebble. '_Reisa_.'

The pebble lifted slowly off the ground, and Gern grinned.

'Showoff,' Tuomas muttered.

'Master, could you teach me how to make a fire like that?' said Kaelyn, indicating the black fire that was still burning steadily. 'I've been watching it all day and it still hasn't gone out. How did you do it?'

'That's special magic,' said Galbatorix. 'Something I learned in the North. It's a kind only I can use, but if you like I can teach you the words.'

'Why are you the only one who can do it?' said Kaelyn. 'I don't understand.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'It's an ability I was born with; as far as I know everyone else who could is dead now. The spell to make a fire like that uses a different language than the ancient language.'

'What language is that?' said Kaelyn.

'I don't understand,' said Tranah. 'The ancient language is the only one that can control magic; there are no others.'

'This is a different kind of magic,' said Galbatorix. 'One that has its own language. The words to make the fire are _fyrnarth niatch ddywyn yma wywch._'

'That's a strange language,' said Tranah. 'Sounds Northern, but… where did you learn it?'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'I'll tell you another time.' He finished his food and stretched, wincing when his back cracked. 'Well, that's about all I have the energy for today. If no-one minds, I'm going to get some rest.' Without further ado, he lay down on his side in the warmth from the fire, and promptly went to sleep.

The others watched him silently.

'He's very strange,' Kaelyn said in a low voice.

'What d'you mean by that?' said Tranah.

'Well, why is he so… calm all the time?' said Kaelyn. 'I mean, he's the Great Betrayer, isn't he? He told me about everything that happened to him. How could he even _smile_ after that? It just doesn't fit.'

Tranah shrugged. 'People don't work like that. They aren't as simple in real life as they are in stories. As for Galbatorix, well… I've never seen him cry, but that doesn't mean I think he doesn't feel anything. He keeps it hidden, that's all.'

'He's the strongest person I know,' said Strein. 'The things that happened to him would have killed a lesser man, or crippled him for life. But he found something inside him that kept him alive and sane. A lot of people who lose as much as he did lose their hearts as well, but somehow he kept his. He still cares about other people. When Tranah and I came to him to ask for his help, we were both frightened of him. I was terrified, to be honest. If the stories were true and he really was just a bloodthirsty madman, then we'd lose our last chance. We'd probably die. But he wasn't like that at all. He _listened_ to us. And he accepted us. He gave me back my dignity and gave me a reason to live. I would die for him.'

'He did the same for me,' said Morzan. 'I mean… I was governor of Teirm a while ago, when he was in hiding there, and I caught him. I had him in the dungeon and I was waitin' for them to send me a letter from Ilirea and tell me what to do with him. And they told me to execute him. It was the worst thing that's ever happened to me in my life. I knew the stories were all lies and he was innocent, and he was my _friend._ But I was going to have to kill him. I went and told him, and he was just calm. Just took it in like it was nothing. Not so much as a blink. He was going to be hanged the next day and he _apologised_ to me. Said he was sorry he'd forced me to execute an innocent man an' he didn't blame me for it.'

The others murmured in astonishment. Tranah glanced over at the sleeping Galbatorix. 'My gods. He really said all that?'

'He's one tough son of a bitch,' said Morzan. 'I saw him get out of Ilirea and outrun both me and Brom when he'd been flogged an' beaten and had all his fingers on one hand broken. I couldn't believe it. But later on when I went to see him again, I found out what he was really feeling. He was crying. Only time I ever saw him do it. He admitted he was scared of dying. That was when I knew I couldn't go on working for the elders. If I killed him, it'd be like killing _me._'

'I know what you mean,' said Strein. 'That was a very brave thing you did, Morzan.'

'But it was the only thing to do,' said Morzan.

Tranah nodded. 'I had doubts when Strein and I first decided to look for him, but now I know we did the right thing. He is a great man. In all my life I've never met a leader who inspired me as much as he does. You three should count yourselves as very lucky that you have him as your teacher.'

'I do,' said Kaelyn, while her friends nodded their agreement.

Galbatorix stirred and mumbled something. Kaelyn, watching him, saw again how young he was. He looked very vulnerable in sleep, frowning slightly, his hands curled. She could see how his right forefinger was ever so slightly crooked. The gedwëy ignaesia on his palm was faded, as if the loss of his dragon had robbed it of its original silver glory. As Kaelyn watched him, she saw his lips move. He started to talk in his sleep. 'Laela…'

Kaelyn started. The others looked around, surprised.

'Can you run, Laela?' Galbatorix mumbled. 'Can you catch me, Laela?'

'He must be dreaming,' said Tranah.

Galbatorix's brow furrowed. 'Please don't go,' he said. 'Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone, Laela. Please.' His hands twitched. 'Run, Laela, can you run? They're coming. Please, Laela. I don't want to die, please don't let them hurt me, NO!' his eyes flicked open and he came awake very suddenly, sitting up and grabbing White Violence's hilt.

Tranah hurried over and put her hands on his shoulders, holding him still. 'It's all right! Calm down, you're safe.'

Galbatorix blinked and shook his head, and alertness returned to his eyes. 'Tranah? What's going on?'

'You were having a bad dream,' said Tranah.

'Oh…' Galbatorix let go of White Violence and rubbed his eyes. He looked around at the others, his expression slightly confused. 'Where's Laela?'

'She's dead, sir,' Strein said softly.

Galbatorix's face fell. 'Oh. Yes. That's right. Sorry. I got confused.' He stood up and walked away without another word. No-one tried to stop him.

Kaelyn watched him go, her heart pounding. 'Who's Laela?'

'Laela was his dragon,' said Morzan. 'Don't worry about him. He gets a little confused sometimes and forgets she's dead.'

'That's so _sad,'_ said Kaelyn.

'Yeah…' Morzan sighed.

'Shouldn't someone go after him?' said Gern.

Strein shook her head. 'I think he'd prefer to be alone right now. He'll come back when he's ready.'

But Galbatorix did not return.

They finished eating and talked on about this and that. Tuomas talked about his childhood in Furnost, and Strein told the story of her part in the Teirm assassinations. She proved to be quite a good storyteller, and made the tale thrilling. Tuomas and Gern listened intently, quickly caught up in the story.

'…and afterwards we were all prepared to get out of there while the going was good, but Galbatorix insisted on going down there and saying the funeral rites over the bodies. He does that every time he kills someone, you know. He's very particular about it.'

'Why?' said Tuomas.

'It was something about… oh…' Strein glanced over at Tranah. 'What's that thing he's always saying, Tran?'

'"While your enemy lives, never forgive him. When he is dead, let your hatred die with him",' said Tranah.

Tuomas and Gern murmured, much impressed. Kaelyn, however, said nothing. She sat by the fire, watching its black flames flicker, then quietly slipped away into the darkness.

She met up with Sartago at the edge of the camp. The grey dragon stirred in the moonlight, turning toward her, his silver eyes bright. _'What is it, Kaelyn?'_

Kaelyn scanned the dark beach, unable to see much beyond the light reflecting off the waves. _'Where's Galbatorix? Did you see where he went?'_

Sartago raised his head and sniffed at the air. _'I can smell him,'_ he said. _'He's somewhere in that direction.'_ He pointed his snout Eastwards, toward the end of the beach, where there were cliffs.

Kaelyn walked in that direction, stumbling a little on the sand. Sartago followed. _'Why are you going after him?'_

'_I'm worried about him,'_ said Kaelyn. _'He just wandered off on his own. What if something happens to him?'_

'_I think he knows how to look after himself, Kae,'_ said Sartago.

But Kaelyn did not know how to express the passionate concern she had for her new master. Her head was full of the heartrending vulnerability and loss that she had seen in his face, and though she didn't know what she could possibly do for him she was desperate to find him. She wouldn't say anything to him. She would just keep going until she could see him, just to make sure he was all right, just to check…

But he was not on the beach. Kaelyn halted at the point where the sand ended and the rocks began at the base of the cliff. _'Where is he, Sartago?'_

Sartago sniffed again, peering around with his night-piercing eyes. _'There,'_ he said at last. _'Up on the cliff. See?'_

Kaelyn followed his gaze, and sure enough she saw the figure sitting on the clifftop, a piece of living darkness silhouetted by the stars, hair blowing in the wind.

'_There,'_ said Sartago. _'You know where he is now. You should go back now.'_

But Kaelyn stayed where she was, her eyes on Galbatorix, just watching him. Then, impulsively, she moved forward, climbing up over the rocks toward the cliff. There were plenty of handholds on its face, and, after a moment's hesitation she began to climb up. She reached the top of the cliff, and there was Galbatorix, sitting right at the edge, looking out over the sea. She could hear him breathing, see his robe being ruffled by the wind, smell his sweat.

Kaelyn moved closer, afraid that he would hear her and be angry. As she neared him, she realised he was singing softly, the words in a strange lilting language she did not understand.

'_S mithic teárnadh do na gleannaibh,_

_O'n tha gruamich air na beannaibh,_

_S ceathach dùinte mu na meallaibh_

_A' cur dallaidh air a léirsin…_'

Although Kaelyn did not know what it meant, the tune was slow and melodic, full of a deep and terrible sadness. She had never heard anything like it in her life.

Suddenly, she felt ashamed of herself for spying on him like this. She was tempted to turn and leave, but something prevented her.

'Galbatorix,' she said softly.

He turned sharply, his hand immediately reaching for his sword. When he saw her, he relaxed. 'Kaelyn?'

'I'm sorry,' Kaelyn blurted. 'I didn't mean to… I was worried about you.'

He blinked and let go of his sword. 'Worried? About me?' he sounded slightly bemused.

'Yes,' said Kaelyn. 'I just wanted to make sure you were all right, but then I heard you singing…'

'Oh,' said Galbatorix, embarrassed. 'I'm not a very good singer…'

'I thought it was beautiful,' Kaelyn said boldly.

Galbatorix turned away to look at the sea again. 'I was thinking about Laela,' he said.

Kaelyn sensed that he wanted to talk. She plucked up courage and moved forward to sit beside him. He moved aside to let her, huddling on the rock he was using as a seat, hugging his knees.

'What did the song mean?' Kaelyn asked.

'It's a lament,' said Galbatorix. 'A bit hard to translate, but it more or less goes like this: "It is time now to go down into the dales, for gloom is fallen on the tops and mists shroud the hills, darkening our vision. I cannot smile. Not before, less now. I cannot."'

Kaelyn was silent for a time. 'What's it like to lose your dragon?' she asked.

Galbatorix looked at her, his eyes shining in the starlight. 'Terrible,' he said.

'Does it hurt?' Kaelyn persisted.

Galbatorix turned away once more, looking up at the sky. 'Unimaginably.'

'How do you do it, Master?' said Kaelyn. 'How can you keep living? If I lost Sartago, I'd… I don't know what I'd do.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I don't really know. But I think… there was always a darkness in me. Ever since I was born. There was something in me that was stronger than I was. I could feel it sometimes, when I was angry, and it made me afraid. I'm still afraid of it. But it keeps me alive.'

'What do you mean, Master?'

'I don't really know,' said Galbatorix. 'It's just… a way of thinking about it. But it's a power that kills people. It killed all those riders. And it will kill many more of them. I can feel it.'

Kaelyn shivered. 'I'm really sorry I hurt you, Master. I can't stop thinking about it. When you went off with Shruikan, I couldn't help but feel like you were angry with me.'

'I'm not,' said Galbatorix. 'I promise. I was angry with myself for scaring you like that. I really shouldn't swear so much. And I like to be alone, that's all.'

Kaelyn hesitated. Was he telling her to go away? 'If you don't want me here, I'll leave you alone,' she said.

'No, no, you can stay if you want to,' said Galbatorix. 'The truth is, I always feel alone. I've been alone ever since Laela died. Alone inside, if you can understand what I mean. I keep trying to find her in my head; I forget she's dead and call out to her, but she doesn't answer and then I remember. And it hurts every time. I'm not much of a teacher, Kaelyn, but if you never learn anything else from me, let it be this: never let anything happen to Sartago. Keep him safe, never take him for granted, never think he'll always be there when you need him. Being a rider is a gift. When I was with Laela I couldn't imagine how I'd lived without her there beside me. But being a rider comes with a curse – if you lose your dragon, you lose yourself. Even if you don't die. It kills something inside you, and you can never get it back. I've killed many other riders, but every time I did it I made sure I killed both of them. They're my enemies, but I could never bring myself to make them live like I do. Not when I know what it feels like, every day.'

Kaelyn listened. 'I'll remember,' she promised.

They were silent for a while, and Galbatorix sighed and fiddled with his beard. He looked up at the sky again. 'Do you think the gods are real, Kaelyn?' he asked unexpectedly, and when he said it he suddenly lost the normal tone of distance and formality and sounded like the boy he really was.

Kaelyn hesitated. 'I don't know,' she said. 'My mother came from Surda, and she used to tell me the wind was the breath of the gods. I was never sure if she really meant it.'

'I'm not sure what I believe,' said Galbatorix. 'I mean… I grew up in Teirm, and most people there were godless. The riders stamped out all the religions people used to have, you see. There were only a few cults left, and they met in secret. I remember I knew someone who lived on my street who was arrested for keeping an idol in his house. But I met someone very wise when I was in the North, and she told me the gods were dying.'

'How could a god die?' said Kaelyn.

'Gods are alive only in the hearts of those who believe in them,' said Galbatorix. 'But if the believers die, if they stop believing… the god dies. The riders told me the gods weren't real. Lies and false hopes and nonsense. They told me there was no afterlife. The soul dies with the body, and all gods are built out of lies. I remember I argued at first, but in the end I lost interest. I couldn't see the point in debating it; they wouldn't listen to me anyway, and why would they? They already knew they were right.'

'What do you believe now?' said Kaelyn.

'I just don't know,' said Galbatorix. 'After Laela died, I used to wonder if she still existed somewhere. If there really was an afterlife, then I could be with her again after I died. Sometimes, when I was confused, I'd be so convinced I could still feel her inside me that I would believe it. Now I'm not so sure. Are there gods? If they exist, it's inside people, and if they act, it's through them. A god didn't come out of the sky to save me from Ilirea's dungeons. It was Morzan and Brom that came. Because they cared about me. Maybe that's all the power the gods really have. I don't know. I suppose that sounds silly, really. If people are all the power the gods have, then they may as well not exist. But it's comforting to think that there could be something else out there. I know fate exists.'

'I don't believe in fate,' said Kaelyn.

'Why not?'

'Well, if everything we do has already been decided, then there's just no point in living, is there?' said Kaelyn. 'Everything is futile.'

'Yes… that's what I thought, too. But I believe in fate. Sometimes I see things in my dreams. Just little snatches of things. Premonitions. I never know what they mean until after it's already happened, but… well, I think it's in my blood. My grandmother was a seer, you see, and she saw the future in her dreams. I must have inherited a hint of the gift.'

'I don't like it,' said Kaelyn.

'Neither do I,' said Galbatorix.

The moon was well overhead by now, and the night was all about them. The only sound was the hiss and rush of the sea below, and the low, hollow howl of the wind.

'I'll fight for you,' Kaelyn said softly. 'Once I've finished training, I'll help you fight the elders. I'll take an oath to serve you.'

'Kaelyn, no,' said Galbatorix. 'Please don't.'

'But I want to fight for you,' said Kaelyn. 'Please, Master, why won't you let me? Aren't I good enough?'

'That's not what I meant,' said Galbatorix. 'You're a very brave person, Kaelyn, and intelligent as well. You'll make a great rider. And you can fight beside me if you want. But don't take an oath. I don't want you to bind yourself like that. I wish Morzan and the others hadn't done it now, but they did it of their own free will, without asking me if I wanted them to. I never expected to be a leader, but after he set me free Morzan pledged himself to me and I knew I had to lead him. He'd thrown away everything he had in order to follow me, and I couldn't turn him away. He would have had nowhere else to go. No, Kaelyn. If you want to fight for me, do it because you want to. If you don't take an oath, you can leave whenever you want.'

'But I wouldn't leave you,' said Kaelyn. 'I trust you.'

'That could change. I don't want to set people free and then put them into a different kind of prison.'

'It's not a prison!' Kaelyn exclaimed. 'Don't you understand, Master? You're our only hope. Without you we've got nothing.'

'Don't be silly,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm nothing special. I'm just… well, I'm me. And I'm not sure I like that. What can I offer you except fighting and killing? I don't even know what I'll do once this is all over, assuming I'm still alive by then.' He sounded slightly sulky.

'Why won't you let me take an oath?' said Kaelyn. 'I _want_ to do it. And you're not like that, Master. You're special. A great man.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I don't _feel_ great,' he said honestly. 'Do you want to know how I really feel, Kaelyn?'

'Tell me,' Kaelyn said boldly.

'I'm afraid,' said Galbatorix. 'I've been afraid for a long time, and I can't shake it off.'

'Afraid of what?' said Kaelyn. She was taken aback by this frankness. 'That they might catch you?'

'I'm afraid for you,' said Galbatorix. 'All of you. You, and Tuomas and Gern, and Morzan, Tranah, Strein, and the dragons. I can't help but feel like I'm a danger to you. All of you.'

'Why?' said Kaelyn. 'You wouldn't hurt us, would you?'

'Never. But… I'm a curse, Kaelyn. A cursed man. Everyone I care about dies. My whole family is gone, and my dragon as well. And so many others. I can't help but be afraid that something will happen to you. You and all my friends, and Shruikan too. Sometimes I look around at them all and feel like I should run away. But if I did that, I'd be betraying them.'

'We'll be all right, Master,' said Kaelyn. 'If you're leading us, we'll be safe. You wouldn't let us down. Tranah said she trusts you so much she'd die for you. Strein did too.'

Galbatorix covered his face with his hands. For a moment Kaelyn wondered if he was in tears, but he took his hands away and cradled his head in them, staring at the ground. 'I've been having dreams,' he said. 'The same dream, over and over again. I had it again just now, by the fire. I keep telling myself it's nothing, but…'

'What was it?' said Kaelyn. 'I heard you talking in your sleep.'

'I see myself,' said Galbatorix. 'Standing somewhere in the dark. I have my sword in my hand and I look frightened. And then I realise there's a dagger in my chest, and there's blood on my robe. And I see myself scream and die, and I'm lying there, dead, and the elders appear. All of them. Vrael, Oromis, Menulis, Yansan and Saraswati. And they see my body lying there, and they laugh and jeer and kick it and spit on it. I can see their faces, all twisted and full of hate, like masks. And then I wake up.'

Kaelyn went cold. 'But it won't happen,' she said. 'Never.'

'Why not?'

'Because I won't let it,' said Kaelyn.


	32. At Orthiad

Chapter Thirty-Two

At Orthíad

For the next few days, Galbatorix and his companions stayed on the beach and spent their days with the tutoring of Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas. The three students learned fast and eagerly, and over time Galbatorix found himself adapting to his new role as a master. He even enjoyed it. It made him happy to see them gradually learning and improving, and even more so when he saw how keen they were to learn, and how glad they were that they had finally found someone who would teach them. Kaelyn in particular listened very closely to everything he said, and was constantly striving to improve. Since their talk on the clifftop she had become very attached to Galbatorix; showing intense concern for his wellbeing and listening to him so closely and respectfully that he found it slightly embarrassing. The truth was that, since he had opened his heart to her, she had come to care for him in a way the others did not. She would enquire after his health and happiness every day, and even fussed over making sure he had plenty to eat, as if she thought he was a child that needed looking after. Sometimes he found this annoying, but he was surprised to find that he felt happy when she asked him if he had slept well or offered him a second helping of dinner. He'd been so used to looking after himself that it was both strange and comforting to have someone watching after him – even if she was in fact younger than him and theoretically needed more looking after than he did. Morzan, Tranah and Strein were surprised to see how much younger he behaved when he was around his three apprentices. He smiled and laughed more, and was even playful sometimes.

Tranah would smile when she saw him tease Morzan or chase Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn among the sand-dunes, or show off by juggling stones with magic. Evidently he had not forgotten how to enjoy himself.

For Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas it was one of the strangest but happiest times of their lives. Their time of fear was over. They had a master now, and a good one, and he was not the insane murderer they had been led to expect. He was intelligent and charismatic; he knew when to be stern and when to be lighthearted, he was patient and did not talk down to them, and he made their lessons enjoyable as well as challenging. He was not the Great Betrayer. He was Galbatorix Taranisäii, and he was their friend as well as their mentor. And, at different times, both Tuomas and Gern offered to become his followers and help him fight. He accepted it gravely, showing no more signs of the fear and self-doubt that Kaelyn had seen in him. Evidently he had shrugged off his fear, or maybe he was hiding it. Although Kaelyn tried to talk to him about what he had said on the clifftop, he brushed her off. Sometimes she doubted that he was the same man who had spoken so openly and passionately to her that night, but from time to time she would see the vulnerability in him show through once more, and then she would be sure. Even if he was hiding himself away again, she knew that he had shared something of his heart with her, and she treasured it, keeping it to herself like something given in confidence. Whenever she saw him walking alone along the beach, or flying overhead with Shruikan to keep watch, she would promise herself, again and again, that she would do whatever she could to keep him safe. The others saw him as a leader and still maintained a slight distance from him, born of both respect and slight fear, but Kaelyn had seen what was inside him and she could not forget it. Although she was unable to put it into words in her head, she knew just how fragile he really was. It made her afraid for him.

Sometimes, when she woke at night and looked up at the moon, she would wonder if she loved him. But she could not identify the way she felt toward him, or tell if it was love or not. Still, she knew that she would not leave him. Come what may she would stay by his side, and she would fight for him. Even kill for him. And, if need be, die for him. Because he was the leader she wanted to follow. He was Galbatorix.

At the end of the week, Galbatorix announced that it was time to move on. 'We can't risk being discovered,' he said. 'Anyone got any suggestions about where we should go? I suggest Orthíad. We can hide out in the old dwarf city there.'

'Sounds like a good idea to me,' said Tranah. 'But I suggest we go separately. If we travel in a big group, there'll be a bigger chance of being spotted.'

'Good point,' said Galbatorix. 'All right… we'll wait until this evening. I'll go on ahead, and the young dragons will come with me.'

'I'm coming too,' said Kaelyn.

'Can't bear to let me out of your sight, eh?' said Galbatorix, casting an amused glance at her. 'All right. But no chattering. I need to stay focused. Morzan, you'll be next. Wait an hour or so after I'm gone, then follow. Tranah, Strein, you'll be next. Same time-lapse applies. Got that?'

They nodded.

'Right then,' said Galbatorix. 'Let's pack up.'

He extinguished the magical fire, and helped the others pack up and bury all the evidence that their camp had been there. They were running low on food, and Galbatorix made a mental note to take some time out to let Shruikan hunt when the opportunity arose.

Once all was ready, he led Kaelyn toward Shruikan. She had become used to the black dragon by now, and much to everyone's surprise Shruikan would sometimes let her touch him – something he absolutely refused to let anyone else do. She had already flown on his back before, albeit always with Galbatorix there as well. Now she climbed into Shruikan's saddle fairly confidently, and waited while Galbatorix secured his luggage using the ropes attached to the sides of the saddle. When he was done he passed her her sword, saying; 'Not leaving this behind, are you?'

Kaelyn took it. 'Oh! I forgot – thanks.' Lacking the room to strap it onto her back, she held the weapon in her arms while Galbatorix climbed up and seated himself behind her. He reached around her to take hold of Shruikan's neck-rope, then glanced down at Sartago, Leahdorus and Ithír. They raised themselves in readiness to take off, and Galbatorix looked over at the others. 'Good luck, and be careful,' he said. 'I'll see you in a few days.'

'Take care of yourself, Master,' said Tuomas. 'And Ithír too.'

'Don't worry; she'll be safe with me,' said Galbatorix.

Shruikan took off.

The flight to Orthíad took several days. They stayed in the air for hours at a time and only came down to land when it was well dark, choosing isolated places and sleeping in shifts so that one of them was always awake to keep watch.

This was where Kaelyn saw a different side of her master. Galbatorix lost the cheerfulness he had had on the beach and became grim and shut-in, his eyes always on the alert for danger. He would pace restlessly in their temporary camps, his hand always on White Violence's hilt, stopping frequently to listen. His conversation became monosyllabic, even terse, and he was constantly urging her to keep quiet and always be on the lookout. This was when she saw the fugitive in him, and although he was much less open and friendly now he made her feel safe. She stayed close to him and did as she was told, and during her idle moments she would draw her sword and practise with it, or repeat words in the ancient language to perfect her pronunciation. He would glance approvingly at her when she did this, but made no comment. At night, when it was his turn to keep watch, he would climb into a tree, surprisingly nimbly given the long, heavy robe he always wore, and perch on a high branch, nearly invisible amid the leaves. And when he went foraging for food, he would vanish into the forest, becoming a moving shadow seemingly without any effort. When Kaelyn asked him how he did it, he evaded the question. It made him feel like even more of a mystery to her, and she became all the more fascinated by him.

At last, one evening, they passed over the Beors and Orthíad came in sight. Kaelyn felt Galbatorix tense. 'All right,' he said in her ear. 'This is it. Get ready. We're going to land just there, by that entrance, and go in on foot. I'll go first. If something happens, don't wait for me – run. Get to Shruikan and stay by him. No heroics. Understand?'

'Yes, Master,' said Kaelyn, her heat beating faster.

A few minutes later, Shruikan landed on a narrow ledge on the side of the mountain of Orthíad – a huge, ancient peak that had been carved into a palace by the long-dead race of the red dwarves long ago. The mountains all about were riddled with their tunnels. It was a perfect place to hide – full of secret chambers and passages that could be used to make a quick escape. If it was still deserted, they would be able to hide out there for months, undetected.

But if something went wrong… Kaelyn felt numb with fear as she climbed down from Shruikan's back. If something went wrong, there would be no-one there to help them. She gripped the hilt of her sword. It made her feel a little better.

Galbatorix stood perfectly balanced on the ledge, his sword in his hand. Once he had scanned the area, he gestured silently at Kaelyn to follow him and moved off. The ledge was very high up, and uncomfortably narrow, but Kaelyn had a good head for heights and kept close to the wall of rock behind her, forcing herself not to look down. When they were partway along, Galbatorix reached back toward her and took hold of her free hand. He continued on, carefully picking his way around the cracks and bits of loose stone that were in the way. He was sweating, Kaelyn realised.

When they finally reached the entrance, Galbatorix sighed and let go of her hand. 'All right,' he said in a low voice. 'We're there. How did you go?'

'Fine,' said Kaelyn, keeping her voice down. 'You didn't need to hold my hand, you know.'

'Oh. Well, uh… just for safety.' He was looking embarrassed, and Kaelyn forgot her fears for a moment.

'What's the matter?' she asked.

Galbatorix smoothed down his hair with his free hand. 'I don't like heights,' he said briefly, and entered the cave. Kaelyn followed him, her heart pounding.

It was gloomy inside the cave. A hole in the ceiling let a shaft of sunlight fall over the floor, and they could see that it was a fairly small space.

Kaelyn saw no sign of life anywhere. She relaxed and stepped forward, toward the shaft of light, but Galbatorix blocked the way with his arm. She looked at him, and he silently shook his head. He gestured at her to stay where she was, and edged forward, sword in hand. He stopped a few paces away from the beam of light, and pointed his sword at what appeared to be a heap of rocks against the opposite wall.

'Show yourself, or I'll attack,' he said sharply.

There was silence, and then the shadow _moved._ It unfolded itself and came forward into the light, and Kaelyn nearly cried out in shock.

It was a strange, middle-aged man clad in rough yellow clothes. He was short and compact and had a thick head of straw-coloured hair and a freckled, snub-nosed face. He and Galbatorix faced each other warily, both poised to fight.

'Who are you and what are you doing here?' Galbatorix demanded.

The man hesitated, then held up his hands. On the palm of the left hand was a gedwëy ignaesia.

Galbatorix tensed immediately, pulling back his sword in readiness to strike. 'What are you doing here?' he said again. 'Answer me now, or die.'

The yellow-clad man looked nervous. 'Please,' he said, using the ancient language. 'I promise I'm not here to fight you. My name is Roland.'

Galbatorix relaxed a little. 'Why are you here?'

'I'm hiding,' said Roland. 'And hoping to find someone. Are you that someone?'

'That depends,' Galbatorix said carefully. 'Who are you looking for?'

'I seek the Great Betrayer,' said Roland.

Galbatorix lowered his sword. 'Why?'

'First tell me who you are,' said Roland.

'You'll answer my question before I answer yours,' said Galbatorix.

They were silent for a time, glaring challengingly at each other. Finally Roland said; 'I am looking for the Great Betrayer because he is a friend to outcasts, and a leader looking for justice.' He was still using the ancient language. Kaelyn, looking on, had no idea what was being said, but she felt sick with fear.

'Are you the Great Betrayer?' said Roland.

Galbatorix hesitated. 'I am,' he said at last.

Roland's face split into a great smile. 'I knew it,' he said. 'My Lord, I have come a very long way looking for you. I went into hiding here, hoping you would find me or that I would find you. My sword is yours.' He drew it. It was a short but elegant weapon, with a pure gold blade, and gleamed in the shaft of light. 'And there is someone else here to meet you,' he added.

A second shadow moved and came forward. It too had a sword in its hand.

Kaelyn's heart skipped a beat when she saw this. It was a trap. They had lured Galbatorix into a false sense of security, and now they were going to kill him.

She didn't think: she acted. She drew her sword and rushed to Galbatorix's side, pointing the weapon at Roland's face. 'Stay away from him!' she yelled.

Roland started in surprise. 'Good heavens, where did you come from?'

Kaelyn ignored him. She started trying to hustle Galbatorix away toward the entrance. He, however, barely noticed. He was looking at the second person who had stepped into the shaft of light. His mouth fell open.

'Brom!'

Brom inclined his head. 'Hello, Galbatorix.'

Galbatorix's tired face lit up with a smile. He sheathed White Violence, stepped forward, and took his old friend in a fierce embrace. Brom was taken aback by this, but hugged him back.

'Brom!' Galbatorix said again. 'Oh my gods, I can't believe it! Where have you been?' He let go of him and clapped him on the shoulder. 'I _knew_ you'd come and find me, Brom. I knew it.'

Brom smiled, a little warily. 'You look so different. How have you been?'

'Oh, well enough, I suppose,' said Galbatorix. 'Morzan's well. He's been missing you, though. I kept wondering how you were doing and if you were all right. Oh… this is Kaelyn, by the way. My apprentice. Relax, Kaelyn, they're friends.'

Brom held out a hand toward Kaelyn. 'Hello, Kaelyn.'

Kaelyn glanced at Galbatorix for reassurance, then put her sword back into its sheath and shook Brom's hand. 'Hello,' she said formally. 'So your name's Brom?'

'That's right,' said Brom. 'So Galbatorix is your master, is he?'

'Yes,' said Kaelyn, with considerable pride. 'My friends and I ran away because the elves wouldn't teach us, and he saved us from prison and let us be his apprentices.'

'Apprentices?' Brom repeated, looking at Galbatorix.

'Three of them,' said Galbatorix. 'The others are coming here right now. We decided to split up for safety's sake. Look… let's make ourselves a little more comfortable and we can talk.'

Brom nodded. 'Good idea.'

'Where are your dragons, by the way?' said Galbatorix.

'Outside,' Roland volunteered. 'Keeping watch.'

'Sensible,' Galbatorix remarked. 'I'll let Shruikan stay outside as well, but the other three should probably come in.'

Sartago had already been close to the entrance, summoned by Kaelyn's fear. He entered, and his two fellows were close behind him. Sartago went straight to Kaelyn's side, and she scratched his flank to reassure him while Galbatorix conjured up a black fire and bade Brom and Roland sit down by it. Kaelyn sat beside her master, watching the two riders suspiciously.

'So,' said Galbatorix. 'How did you two come to be here?'

'If I may, I will begin with my story,' said Roland.

'Be my guest,' said Galbatorix.

'My full name is Roland Drasborn, or Roland of Helgrind,' said Roland, still speaking in a slightly formal, almost theatrical way, although his tone was quite matter of fact. 'I became a rider thirty years ago and was mentored by Elder Saraswati. And, to be honest, I enjoyed it. I've fought in battles – I was there at the defeat of Ungo the Great and in fact personally slew the old warlord's son. I've governed cities, judged criminals… I even had an apprentice of my own at one time. But all that time, I had a secret. And secret it would have remained but for the fact that the elves have ceased to trust us humans. When I was found out, I had no option but to flee. And here I am.'

'What secret is this?' said Galbatorix.

Roland paused, then took something from around his neck and gave it to him. Galbatorix examined it. It was a large gold amulet in the shape of three peaks, inscribed with strange runes. 'You're a member of the Three Peaks cult?'

Roland nodded. 'Always have been. My grandfather was a member of the priesthood, and was executed after the riders discovered his faith. That was several hundred years after the burning of the Cathedral in Dras-Leona, but the power of the Three Peaks still lives on in the hearts of a few secret believers. I was one of them. I carried out my worship secretly and when I governed Dras-Leona I saw to it that the secret believers there were protected and allowed to worship without persecution. Unfortunately, after you-,' he inclined his head respectfully toward Galbatorix – '-began your war and other human riders joined you, I stopped being above suspicion. My rooms were searched and the sacred texts I kept hidden there were discovered, along with the idol I had kept safe for more than twenty years. The order was put out for my arrest, but fortunately Brom here came and warned me, and we fled together. To find you. If you will accept me, Lord Galbatorix, I will fight by your side to avenge the killing of the priesthood and the burning of the cathedral. I will do it in the name of the Three Peaks. It was not an easy decision to make, but I know of your deeds and how you are a friend to outcasts, and if you will let me, I will abandon the elders and become Forsworn.' Roland finished his speech and looked expectantly at Galbatorix.

'"Forsworn"?' Galbatorix repeated.

Roland nodded. 'That is what your followers are being called. They broke their vows. Thus, they are the Forsworn. They say you have the power to undo an oath made in the ancient language. I have come to find you so that I may ask you to do it for me.'

'I'm honoured,' Galbatorix said gravely. 'And I will accept you.'

Roland bowed his head. 'Thankyou, my Lord.'

'And you, Brom?' said Galbatorix, fixing his old friend with a penetrating stare. 'What's your story? Why did you take so long to come looking for me?'

Brom hesitated. 'I wanted to,' he said. 'After Morzan disappeared I wanted to find him, and you too. But Oromis had me watched. I knew that if I ran, they would follow me. I had to wait a long time for my chance… they made me take more oaths of loyalty, but they still didn't trust me. They sent me to Dras-Leona to work for Roland. They're sending all human riders away from Ilirea. Pretty soon they'll only let elves in. You've created virtual anarchy. The elves don't trust humans, humans don't trust elves, and the dwarves don't trust anyone. Everyone is seeing traitors around every corner, and it's all your doing. That spiral symbol is showing up everywhere. Even the elders are frightened for their lives. They won't admit it, but they are. Every time they think you're gone, you show up again and then vanish like smoke. And you leave dead riders behind wherever you go. Queen Islanzadí is furious with Vrael – she came to Ilirea in person to demand why he had failed to kill you. I've never seen either of them so angry in my life. They're not on speaking terms any more, and now the elves have stopped letting humans into Ellesméra and most of them are refusing to trade with them either. I knew it was only a matter of time before Vrael had all human riders exiled or imprisoned, so when I found out Roland was in trouble I took my chance and went on the run with him. And here I am. I hope you'll accept me, Galbatorix, because if you don't…'

'Of course I will!' said Galbatorix. 'Are you mad? You're my _friend,_ for the gods' sakes. You saved my life twice, and I never forget something like that.'

Brom looked guilty. 'Yes, but… I wasn't sure how much you remembered after what happened to you, and besides, I _have_ been working for your enemies.'

'So what?' said Galbatorix. 'Until fairly recently, _I_ was working for my enemies. But I knew you'd see the truth in the end, Brom. You're not an idiot; your eyes are open. You know why the elders have to be removed.'

'What do you mean by that, Galbatorix?' Brom asked carefully. 'Removed?'

'I mean what I said,' said Galbatorix. 'They must be removed. I'm going to kill them. All of them. And anyone who tries to stop me will die as well.'

'Why?' said Brom.

'Revenge. For Laela. And for everyone else they killed.'

'But does it have to be war?' said Brom. 'Do you really have to kill people?'

'Listen, Brom; they chose this war as much as I did. They tried to destroy me, but they failed. Now, I'll destroy them. There are no other options.'

'It can't be that simple,' said Brom.

'It is. The time for running and hiding is over. It's kill or be killed, and I'm not going to let them win. Not after what they've done. So tell me, Brom – which would you prefer? Do you want to go on working for those murdering tyrants, or do you want to fight back? Because you know what they've done. You _must_ know, surely? A hundred lost races, a thousand dead religions, so many lives destroyed because of the elves and their dogma. For as long as people turn a blind eye and tell themselves it doesn't matter, it will go on happening. As for me, I have no intention of letting them go unpunished. I will fight on for justice, and when my sword finds Vrael's throat I'll know I've fulfilled my purpose.'

'But by _killing_ people?' said Brom.

'Sometimes the world needs a man like me,' said Galbatorix. 'The elders made a killer out of me, and a killer is what they deserve. Will you help me, Brom?'

'_I'll_ help you,' said Roland, when Brom didn't answer straight away. 'And to the very death. Release me from my oath, Lord Galbatorix. You're right. The time has come, and I will not stand idly by while my race is persecuted and my religion defiled.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Well said, Roland. Just… hold still.' He held out a hand and recited the words of the spell. Black energy outlined the other rider, who shivered and closed his eyes as he felt it work at him.

It was over in moments. Galbatorix withdrew his hand and the magic faded. 'There,' he said. 'You're free. The elders have no power over you now. And you, Brom? I'll do the same for you. Just ask.'

Brom was staring at his hands, evidently deep in thought. At last he looked up and said; 'Do it.' He made no move as the spell went to work. Afterwards he said; 'Is… is it over?'

'Yes, it's over, Brom,' said Galbatorix. 'You're free of them now.'

'Yeah…' Brom twisted his hands together, his shoulders hunched.

'Cheer up,' Galbatorix advised. 'Morzan will be here in an hour or so. He'll be overjoyed to see you again.'

'Is he all right?' Brom asked. 'Has he been hurt?'

'He's fine,' said Galbatorix. 'He's stayed by me all this time and done everything he could to help us stay alive and win our battles. He's my most loyal friend.'

'I've been worried about him,' said Brom. 'Ever since he ran off with you, I was always listening to the latest news… I was terrified that one day I'd hear that he'd been killed or captured.'

'He was frightened for you, too,' said Galbatorix. 'The elders still had you in their power, and for all we knew they'd tortured you for information. And what if they sent you to fight us? If Morzan had had to fight you, it would've broken his heart. Mine too. No. I'm very glad to have you here, Brom. And I hope you'll choose to stay with us.' He stopped suddenly, cocking his head like a dragon that had heard something. Then he smiled. 'Morzan is coming. Shruikan's seen him. Let's go to the entrance so he knows where to go.' He stood up and walked toward the cave entrance. The others followed him, and, sure enough, they saw Idün flying toward the mountain.

Galbatorix stepped into the sunlight and waved his arms over his head, signalling to her. She saw him and made straight for the cave entrance.

'Look out!' Galbatorix yelled.

They ran for cover. Moments later, Idün landed. She was moving a little too fast, and skidded a short distance before she managed to stop herself by digging her claws into the stone floor, then turned around back toward the entrance, growling and shaking her head. Morzan got down off her back and hurried to meet Galbatorix.

'Good to see you, sir. Who's this bugger? I – _Brom!_'

Brom ran to his friend, and the two of them embraced fiercely.

'Morzan! I can't believe it's you!' Brom exclaimed. 'My gods, how long has it been?'

'More than a year,' said Morzan. 'Way too long. How've you been, mate? Godsdammit, Brom, I thought you'd forgotten about me. Where've you been? I kept waiting and waiting for you to come and find me. How's Saphira?'

'She's well,' said Brom. 'But missing Idün.'

Idün lowered her snout toward him, and he patted her. 'How are you, Idün? You're so much bigger!'

'As you can see,' Galbatorix cut in. 'We're two members stronger now. Roland here has told me he's willing to help us fight, and I've set him free from his oath. As for Brom…' he gave him an expectant look.

Brom grinned and clapped Morzan on the shoulder. 'I can't leave this big lug to fight on his own. I don't like rebellion, but I can see it's necessary. Count me in.'

'Thankyou, Brom,' Galbatorix said gravely.

Brom coughed and looked away from him nervously, and he and Morzan began talking intently.

Galbatorix stayed by the wall with Kaelyn and Roland, watching the two old friends catch up. Roland sidled over to Galbatorix. 'Well,' he said amiably. 'I can't say I was expecting it to be anything like this. But I like life when it surprises me.'

'Nothing's ever what it seems,' said Galbatorix.

Not long later, they were joined by Tranah and Strein. They brought Tuomas and Gern with them, and the group was complete. The cave was too small for them all to fit into, so they moved on and eventually selected what had once been a banqueting hall. It was very large, with more than enough room for the dragons, all of whom elected to stay indoors except for Shruikan, who preferred the open air and stayed perched on the mountaintop, on the lookout for danger.

The banqueting hall was carved very elaborately, with many entrances leading out of it. There was a huge stone platform dominating the centre, which they eventually realised was a table, built low to accommodate dwarvish diners. There were even hollows in the floor where feasters had once sat, and a minstrel's gallery in one wall, and a great stone chair where the Queen of the red dwarves had once sat.

But now the place was in ruins. There were scars on the walls and ceiling left by magical attacks, and they found bones and broken weapons on the floor, and dark stains on the table that could only be from ancient blood that had soaked into the stone.

It was a dead place, full of the unsettling presence of a hundred restless ghosts. But Galbatorix and the Forsworn did their best to make it come alive again. Galbatorix lit a large black fire in the middle of the table, and claimed the minstrel's gallery as his sleeping spot, from where he could get a good view of both the entrance and the rest of the camp. The others chose places around the walls and in various nooks and crannies, and the dragons chose to stay by the entrance where they could easily take flight if they had to, although the three youngsters elected to shelter in a tunnel entrance close to where their riders had chosen to bed down.

Strein's dragon, Talziri, had caught a pair of deer during the journey, and all of them had gathered various fruits and edible plants from the different campsites they had stopped at, and they worked together to create a kind of impromptu feast. Which, Roland remarked, was only appropriate given that they were in a banqueting hall which had doubtless hosted many feasts in its time.

They sat together around the fire, in no particular order, and ate heartily. Everyone was full of talk, particularly Roland, who quickly endeared himself to everyone there. Even though he was the oldest person present – when Tuomas asked him his age he revealed that he was fifty – he had an air of constant good cheer. His golden dragon, Keth, was a big, battle-scarred creature with a broken horn, but proved to be surprisingly gentle, settling down among her fellows and watching the youngsters play, her yellow eyes peaceful.

Roland talked enthusiastically about his life as a rider, and informed his curious fellows about the cult of the Three Peaks, which had once been widespread throughout Alagaësia, with thousands of believers.

'Until the riders came into power,' he added, losing his smile. 'They were willing to tolerate it at first, but it didn't last. First they made it forbidden for a believer to hold a state position, then they forbade them from becoming riders as well. They encouraged people to blame them whenever something bad happened, then they put bigger and bigger taxes on the cathedrals and the priesthood until people started leaving the faith because they simply couldn't afford it. There was a lot of anger over it, but no-one dared fight back until one young idiot who'd turned himself into a fanatic tried to assassinate Vrael's predecessor. He was caught and executed. The traitor's death. Then the riders started to destroy all of us. Quiet-like, at first. The priests started dying conveniently, the cathedral in Teirm "accidentally" burned down while there was a congregation inside… so on. Then they made it a crime to visit the Three Peaks and killed hundreds of people for trying it. It was horrible. The High Priest in Dras-Leona inspired the believers to rebel, and they did, but it was pointless. Ordinary people can't fight against riders; it's suicide. The rebellion was put down, and Vrael, who'd just about come into power by then, had every last believer rounded up and killed or sent to the mines. My grandfather was one of the ones who escaped. He lived in hiding for a long time and taught his daughter – my mother – all about the faith. He was grooming her to follow in his footsteps and be a priestess, but someone betrayed him.'

'What happened to him?' Tuomas asked.

Roland glanced at him, his genial face hard and cold. 'Why… burned him alive, of course. Tied him to a stake and burned him, right in front of the castle where everyone could see. That's what happens to heretics.'

'That's horrible!' Tuomas exclaimed. 'How could they do that to someone just for believing in a god?'

Roland shrugged. 'The riders have been known to take extreme responses to things that appear to be simple and harmless. After all… they drove the entire race of the silver elves to extinction mostly because they were religious.'

'Silver elves?' said Gern.

'I've heard of them,' said Galbatorix. 'Tree-worshippers.'

'That's right,' said Roland. 'That happened during my lifetime. It's said no-one worked better with wood than the silver elves did. They lived in the shade of a group of giant trees that they'd fed with their magic for hundreds of years. Supposedly, those trees could work miracles. Their leaves could cure diseases that were usually fatal, and just sitting in the shade of one would make you feel at peace. I saw them, you know, just once, when I was a boy. The Southern elves, though…' he sighed and shook his head. 'The trees were poisoned. No doubt the elders know who did it, but no-one was ever revealed as the culprit. The elders acted like it was an unfortunate accident, but they refused to do anything to help the silver elves. They stood by and let them all die.'

'How does losing a tree kill someone?' said Kaelyn.

'Ah, my dear, if you were a believer you'd understand,' said Roland in a genial tone, like a grandfather. 'Those trees were more than just giant old plants. To the silver elves, they were gods. And a god is hope. As soon as the trees died, hope died with them. The silver elves hanged themselves from the branches. I was sent to find out what had happened, and I saw the bodies.' He paused and shuddered. 'There were so _many_ of them. That was the thing I never forgot. I saw at least twenty of them all on the same branch. They were like giant silver fruits that had rotted before they could be picked. The ones who didn't commit suicide just let themselves die. Gave up eating, stopped taking care of themselves, just withered away and died like the trees had done. And just like that they were gone. A whole race, vanished.'

'Just like the one that owned this place,' said Galbatorix. 'The red dwarves. I've no idea what they were like, but I read about them in the records. They were massacred here, and this dead city is all that's left of them.'

'Still,' said Roland, breaking through the miserable silence that followed, 'Let's not be too gloomy. We're still alive, at least, and I could probably tell a story or two that you'll find a little more cheerful.'

'Please do,' said Tranah.

'Anything for you, my dear,' said Roland, winking at her.

The others laughed, and Roland went on to tell the story of how he had first become a rider. Galbatorix was slightly surprised to hear how similar it was to his own. Evidently things had not changed that much since Roland was a boy. But, then, changelessness was what the riders seemed to like best.

'…and at last I picked up an egg and felt it move under my fingers. My heart beat so fast I thought it was going to burst. I just sat there like an idiot and watched it hatch, and next thing I knew I was seeing my dear Keth for the first time. Later on I found out that her father was none other than Glaedr himself – who would've thought it? That was before that old snot Oromis became an elder, mind you. Anyway, so Keth bonded herself to me of course, and after that it was nothing but training for a couple of years. Such a long time ago now, but I remember it very well. You mightn't believe it now, but I was a right handsome dog back in my day. I knew it, too.' He grinned.

'You don't act your age much, if you don't mind my saying so,' said Tranah. 'I wouldn't have expected a rider as senior as you to turn traitor like this.'

'Oh, well, the secret is in pretending you're not old,' said Roland. 'Why should anyone make you take things slow just because you're past forty, eh? I never bought into it. Besides, we're riders. Check in on me again in a hundred years and I'll still be going strong. Might not have all my hair, though, or all my marbles. Mind you, I started out being short of a few of those anyway so you probably won't notice much.'

They laughed at this, and Roland turned to Galbatorix and said; 'Well, that's my story. Would you care to be next, sir?'

Galbatorix paused. 'All right. I've got one.'

The others looked interested, settling down and turning all their attention on him.

'I will tell you a story I heard in the North,' said Galbatorix. 'Now… a long time ago, before the riders came into being, before the elf and dragon war, there were two elvish nobles who both dreamed of finding a divine wellspring that would grant wisdom to whoever found it. But it would only work once. Whoever found it first would be granted wisdom, and after that it would become useless. Now, these two elves were from different races. One of them was a Southern elf. The other was a Northern elf. A dark elf.'

'Dark elf?' said Roland. 'I've heard of those. Aren't they supposed to be evil?'

Galbatorix snorted. 'An entire race, evil? No. It doesn't matter anyway; the dark elves are all dead now. Anyway, the Southern elf was called P'aarthian Blueyes. He was favoured all his life because his uncle was King of the Southern elves at the time, but he wanted to prove that he could do something better than just be related to a ruler. He decided he would go in search of the wellspring. The interesting thing about P'aarthian is that, even though he was called Blueyes all his life, it wasn't because his eyes were blue. For some reason he couldn't see red or green; to him, everything looked blue. Anyway, before Blueyes set out to find the wellspring, he was told that there was already someone else looking for it – a dark elf called Tynyth Traeganni. The light elves and the dark elves were bitter enemies, so Blueyes was bent on finding the wellspring before Tynyth did. For years and years the two of them searched. Neither of them met, but they both knew of each other, and it was a race. The search was long and difficult, and very dangerous, but in the end they both learned where the wellspring was, and travelled as fast as they could toward it, each one determined to get there first.'

'So what happened?' said Brom. 'Who won?'

'They both found it at the same time,' said Galbatorix. 'I imagine they were both angry about it, but there was nothing they could do short of fighting each other, and they were both too worn out for that. So they approached the wellspring side-by-side, and both of them saw what was carved on its side. The inscription revealed something neither of them had known beforehand. In order to gain wisdom from the water, a sacrifice had to be made. Whoever wanted the wellspring's power would have to give up one of their eyes. When Blueyes realised this, he pulled out his dagger and tried to cut out his eye. But he couldn't do it. He didn't have the courage. In the end, he blinded himself in the attempt but still failed to cut out either one. Tynyth saw him lying there, screaming for his lost vision, but she was not afraid. "Half my sight for all your wisdom", she said, and she tore out her left eye with her fingers and threw it into the wellspring. Afterwards she drank the water, and the magic worked. She became wiser than anyone else living in the world. Afterwards the wellspring sank into the ground, never to be seen again. Tynyth carried Blueyes back to his people, and then returned home. For the rest of her life she wore an eyepatch, but when her people saw her again and found that her quest had succeeded they made her their Queen. And from that day the Traegannis ruled the dark elves. As for Blueyes… no-one really knows what happened to him, but he lived out the rest of his life in darkness, cursing the name of Tynyth Traeganni. Some say that is why the Southern elves came to hate their Northern cousins so much in the first place, but that's neither here nor there.'

He fell silent, his eyes fixed inscrutably on the fire.

'A fine tale,' said Roland. 'May I ask where you learned it?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'In the North.'

'Yes, but where in the North?'

'That's a story for another time,' said Galbatorix.


	33. Tears of the Viper

Chapter Thirty-Three

Tears of the Viper

They stayed at Orthíad for several days after this, fairly confident that they would not be discovered. Galbatorix resumed teaching his apprentices, but his former geniality was gone now and he had reverted to his usual withdrawn, unsmiling self. Now that he had no less than five fully-trained riders allied with him, he had regained his normal seriousness and retreated back into himself. In the end even Kaelyn accepted that he was no longer Galbatorix the boy but Galbatorix the leader, but it made her sad, as if she had lost a good friend. Still, she had not lost her respect for him, and she stopped trying to make him show his light-hearted side and took up a more formal relationship with him, turning to Tuomas and Gern for friendship instead.

Not long after being released from his vows, Roland took an oath of loyalty to Galbatorix, albeit over his wishes. 'I consider it a sign of trust,' he declared. 'And a courtesy. Since you were so kind as to accept me, I would consider it bad manners not to swear myself to you. And if you find my services unsatisfactory in some way, why, by all means, undo my oath.'

Brom, meanwhile, slowly shed his inhibitions and settled into his new life. He was evidently very happy to be reunited with Morzan, and the two friends spent plenty of time together, helping with the teaching of the apprentices. Galbatorix was pleased to have Brom with him, and said so.

'I've missed it,' he said. 'Having friends, I mean.'

But he quickly showed that he had more on his mind than simply spending time with his friends. The day after his arrival at Orthíad, when all of the Forsworn sat around the fire, Galbatorix turned to Brom and said; 'Now… what can you tell me that might be useful, Brom? What are the elders up to?'

'What do you want to know?' Brom asked carefully.

Galbatorix glanced around at the others. 'I've thought it over. There are six of us now. Nine if you count my apprentices. I think it's time to do something serious. Something that will have a big impact.'

'Another attack, sir?' said Strein.

Galbatorix nodded. 'It's time to show them our strength. And I know how. Brom, can you tell me where the elders are? Are they in Ilirea?'

'Most of them are,' said Brom. 'Vrael is, and Saraswati, and Yansan. Menulis had just been recalled; he'll be there by now.'

'What about Oromis?' said Morzan.

'He's at Vroengard,' said Brom. 'And as far as I know he's due to stay there for some time.'

Galbatorix looked grim. 'Perfect. If Vroengard is where Oromis is, then Vroengard is where we'll go.'

'Are we gonna kill him, sir?' said Morzan.

'Yes. And anyone else who's with him. We'll attack together. All of us. And once Oromis is dead, we'll take Vroengard for ourselves. No more hiding. We'll use it as our fort, and when they come to attack us, we'll be ready.'

The others murmured at this. 'Are you sure, sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix nodded. 'We're strong enough now. I can feel it. Your time of waiting is over, Morzan. When we break into Vroengard, I'll stand aside for you. You can kill that perverted piece of filth yourself.'

All doubt disappeared from Morzan's strong face. 'Let's do it,' he said quietly.

'What do you think?' said Galbatorix, addressing the others at large.

'I think it could be a good plan, sir,' said Roland. 'Risky, but, to be honest, I agree that we are strong enough. Vroengard is a good place. Easily defensible, with plenty of room for us. Of course, I'm not saying it'll be easy. No doubt Oromis will have plenty of other riders with him for protection. They won't take any risks with their own lives at stake. And they will be expecting you to attack the elders.'

'No they won't,' said Tranah. 'They're too arrogant for that. They don't believe that anyone would dare attack an elder. Not even you, sir.'

Galbatorix flexed his fingers. 'We'll prove them wrong soon enough.'

'When do we go?' said Morzan.

'Soon,' said Galbatorix. 'We'll take a few days off first, to rest and make plans. I want to make sure we have it all worked out as carefully as possible. We can't afford to make any mistakes.'

The others agreed. Accordingly, over the course of the next week, they spent time every day working out a plan of attack. Brom and Morzan were both very familiar with Vroengard, having been trained there, and between them they sketched a fairly accurate map of the place. Galbatorix, Tranah, Strein, Roland, Morzan and Brom spent hours at a time sitting around the map, which they had carved into the tabletop, endlessly discussing the best direction to attack from, pointing out different escape routes and defensive positions, trying to predict how their enemies would respond, coming up with emergency plans for what they should do if the attack went awry. Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas watched them with some fascination, even timidly venturing to make a few suggestions of their own, which Galbatorix accepted graciously. For the three apprentices, it was really quite thrilling to see their master sitting with his comrades, planning an attack that would doubtless go down in history. As Kaelyn remarked to Tuomas out of earshot, they were seeing something that was going to change the world. 'And we're part of it,' she added, bright-eyed. 'We're part of it, Tuomas. One day people will say; "they were there".'

At the end of the week, Galbatorix finally announced that he was satisfied with the plan and they were ready to carry it out.

'We'll leave tomorrow,' he said. 'At dawn.'

Everything was ready. Everyone knew what their role would be, everyone was prepared.

'It will be dangerous,' said Galbatorix. 'Probably the most dangerous thing we've done so far. We'll be facing our deaths out there – all of us. It's them or us. Kill or be killed. We're at the edge here. Right on the edge of what it means to be human. But we're more than human. We're riders. Every one of us has part of a dragon inside him. Then let us unleash that part. Let us breathe fire and smoke, let us descend on them from the sky, let us fight them with all the strength and all the courage we have. This battle will go a long way toward deciding the outcome of the war. If we succeed, if we kill Oromis, we will have struck a major blow. We will take Vroengard for our own, and that's where we'll stay. Kaelyn, Tuomas, Gern… you're not ready to fight yet. But once we've taken control of Vroengard, it will be your new home. You'll finish your training there, and when you're ready you'll be the first of a new order of dragon riders. Riders without pointed ears. Riders who still have hearts in their chests. Riders who are free. The elves have ravaged this land long enough. We will stop them, and we will punish them, and afterwards… afterwards we can rebuild. We can't bring back the dead. But we can give people back their dignity and their freedom. Let the dead gods come back to life, let people live as they choose, and never let anyone be ashamed because they are different. That is my promise to the world, and I will fight and kill to bring it about. And, if need be, I will die.' He finished by putting a hand over his heart and speaking first in the dark elvish tongue and then in the ancient one, saying the same thing both times. '_This I swear.'_

He could see the others looking at him, and see the courage and resolution rising in them. Their doubts had been swept away. They were ready.

He said no more after this, and left the banqueting hall for the open air, where night was already drawing in.

It was cool outside. The stars were beginning to come out, and a clean mountain wind was blowing among the peaks, carrying the sharp scent of pine needles and a hint of rain. Galbatorix stood in the entrance, looking up at the sky. The wind ruffled his hair, and he sighed. In spite of the speech he had just made and the prospect of what would happen tomorrow, he felt very peaceful. The recurring nightmare had left him, and he felt more certain now; stronger and safer. His doubts, too were gone. He was a leader, and one that was growing more powerful all the time. Even though he had set out to fight alone, somehow it was all arranging itself around him. Morzan. Tranah. Strein. Roland. Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas. And now Brom as well. They had sought him out, and he had seen a trust in the way they spoke to him and looked at him; even a kind of awe. He had been a lone wolf, but they had made a leader out of him, and now, looking at the stars, with the prospect of the fall of Vroengard ahead of him, he felt truly ready for it.

He found a ledge not too far away from the cave entrance, and sat down, cross-legged, enjoying the solitude. Shruikan was perched partway up the mountain, only just visible, keeping watch. Galbatorix could see him move from time to time.

The last of the light from the setting sun faded. Presently, the moon rose. Galbatorix watched it, wondering if it really was watching over him as Arthryn had claimed.

'Please gods,' he murmured. 'Help me to survive this. Give me the strength to crush my enemies, and I will bring you back. I swear it.'

The wind howled softly among the rocks, and Galbatorix chuckled quietly, mocking himself. Still, he had tried everything. Perhaps offering up a prayer to the gods wasn't completely unreasonable.

He saw someone emerging from the cave entrance, and turned to meet him.

It was Brom. 'There you are,' he said.

'Hello, Brom,' said Galbatorix. 'Just watching the stars.'

'I brought you some food,' said Brom, offering him a bowl of stew.

Galbatorix took it. 'Thanks. Care to join me?'

Brom sat down beside him. 'What were you thinking of?'

'Oh, this and that,' said Galbatorix, taking the spoon out of the bowl. 'I like to watch the moon rise; it helps me think. In the North… every phase of the moon means something different. The full moon means a time for great magic to be used. The half-moon is a sign of destiny.' He pointed at the moon, which was peeking over a mountaintop, glowing white among the clouds. 'The sickle moon. Protection.'

'That was an amazing speech you gave,' said Brom. 'I had no idea you could be so eloquent.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'I have my moments.'

'Did you really mean all that?'

'Of course I did. When I say something, I mean it.'

'Why do you hate the riders so much?' said Brom.

Galbatorix stared at him. 'Are you joking?'

'No. I just want to know.'

'Brom, they killed Laela,' said Galbatorix. 'They tried to kill me. You saw what they did to me. If it wasn't for you and Morzan, my head would be rotting on a spike now.'

'But if they believed you did something wrong…'

'I didn't. It's a lie. You know that. Flell lied, but they believed her. They all worked together to destroy me, and they nearly succeeded. And they've done it to so many other people. I didn't start this, Brom. They brought it on themselves.'

Brom sighed. 'I believe you, Galbatorix. It's just that all this talk of fighting and bloodshed bothers me.'

Galbatorix laughed softly. 'You made a mistake in becoming a rider if you're scared of a few battles, Brom.'

'I'm not _scared,'_ Brom retorted. 'I just don't… I don't know how to put it into words. I just can't help but wonder if war is the only answer.'

Galbatorix snorted. 'Show me a day when they're willing to negotiate, and I'll show you a rock with wings. It's my fate to be the Great Betrayer, and I accept that. I'd advise you to accept your own fate, whatever that might be. It's the only way to live at peace with yourself.'

'I don't know what my fate is,' said Brom. 'You should probably eat that before it gets cold, by the way.'

'If you don't know what your fate is, then you're lucky,' said Galbatorix. He remembered what he was holding, and took a spoonful of stew. 'Hmm, not bad. Oh… Brom, there's something I want to know. Do you know what happened to Flell? Morzan told me the child was stillborn and that she was sent away somewhere afterwards, but I don't know where.'

'I think she's at Melian,' said Brom.

Galbatorix swallowed. 'What? Melian? But that's… that's nowhere. What could she possibly do there?'

'Nothing,' said Brom. 'She's… well, I saw her after… what happened. She's not how she used to be.'

'What do you mean?' said Galbatorix, feeling an unpleasant pang in his stomach.

'After she lost her child, she… well, she hardly ever speaks any more,' said Brom. 'And Thrain… Thrain went insane. She stopped talking too, and started attacking people. Flell didn't attack anyone, but… all she does now is cry.'

Galbatorix ate another mouthful of stew. His stomach was churning. 'Oh gods… I had no idea. I still… I still feel something for her, you know. Even after what she did to me.'

'What do you mean by that?' said Brom, his voice suddenly sharp. 'What did she do to you, Galbatorix?'

'She betrayed me,' said Galbatorix. 'She lied to the elders. I loved her, and she sold me to them to save her own life.' He pulled a pained, half-angry, half-miserable expression. 'So now we know how the gods reward treachery. I know I shouldn't pity her, but I do.'

Brom turned away from him. 'You don't pity her, Galbatorix. Not like I do. You haven't seen her. Seen what she's become. Her eyes are dead now. There's nothing left in them. She's still breathing, but she's dead. And you killed her.'

The accusation stung Galbatorix. 'I know,' he said. 'I didn't mean for it to happen. I was young and I was in love. I was stupid. I thought I was invincible, but I was wrong. If only I'd been more careful, I might still be governing Teirm by now, and Laela might still be alive. I'm a cursed man, Brom. I cursed Flell.'

'Yes,' Brom said softly. 'You did. At least you realise now that it's your fault.'

'But it was hers as well,' said Galbatorix. 'I _trusted _her. If she'd only… well, I don't know how it happened. Probably the elders pressured her into it. They wanted an excuse to get rid of me, after all. Why else d'you think they didn't ask any more questions?'

Brom was looking at him, his blue eyes full of disbelief. 'How can you live with yourself?' he asked. 'Honestly, how? After what you've done? What you've become? Can't you see it?'

'See what?' said Galbatorix, his voice dangerously low.

'I just can't understand it,' said Brom. 'Do you honestly think it isn't true? How often do you have to lie to yourself? Is it as often as you lie to everyone else? Don't you know what you are? You're a monster.'

Galbatorix put down the bowl of stew. 'Brom, I'm warning you-,'

'Well it's true,' said Brom. 'Face it. I saw what you did. All the things you've destroyed. You're insane. You're a murdering rapist, and you know it.'

Galbatorix stood up sharply. 'How _dare_ you?' he demanded. 'You – _oh!_' Pain suddenly shot through his stomach. He doubled up, gasping, and fell to his knees as more pain started to burn inside him.

Brom stood up, backing away from him. 'I'm sorry, Galbatorix. But you had to be stopped.'

Galbatorix glanced at the bowl of stew. 'Poison?' he said. 'You – Brom, you godsdamned _coward_, you – _ah_-,' He cringed, clutching at his stomach. The pain was growing steadily worse. It felt as if his insides were on fire.

'I didn't want to do it,' said Brom. 'But you gave me no choice. The elders-,'

'The elders killed Laela!' Galbatorix shouted.

All the warmth had vanished from Brom's normally genial face. 'I know what you are,' he hissed. 'I know your secret. _Half-breed.'_

Galbatorix tried to get up, but all the strength had gone out of him, and he fell forward onto his face. Up on the mountainside, Shruikan suddenly raised his head and let out an agonised bellow. The black dragon started to climb down toward Galbatorix, but before he had got halfway Saphira appeared out of nowhere and attacked him.

Galbatorix could feel the pain of Shruikan's injuries, adding itself to the burning in his stomach and the iciness in his limbs. But even then he didn't panic. He summoned up all his strength, raising himself from the ground and back into a kneeling position. Without hesitation, he jammed his fingers down his throat. It made him retch, and he withdrew his hand and vomited, expelling some of the poison.

Brom drew his sword. 'For Flell,' he rasped, and swung the weapon with all his might.

The blue blade hit the stone with a loud clang and a shower of sparks. Galbatorix had dodged it at the last minute, and before Brom could raise it again it was already too late. The noise had alerted the Forsworn, and they came charging out of the cave, calling Galbatorix's name. Brom turned to fight them, but he was hopelessly outnumbered. In moments he had been disarmed and knocked to the ground. Tranah and Roland pinned him down, holding him at their mercy so that he wouldn't dare use his magic, and Morzan and Kaelyn ran to Galbatorix's side, lifting him to his feet. Meanwhile, Idün and Keth went to Shruikan's aid. They overpowered Saphira, and Brom screamed as he felt them tearing at her wings.

Morzan let go of Galbatorix and drew his sword, pointing it at his former friend. 'Brom, how could you?' he said. 'How could you?'

Brom was helpless, but remained defiant. 'He had to die, Morzan,' he said. 'I had no choice. How could you follow him? You betrayed us all.'

Morzan hit him in the face, hard. 'You miserable coward,' he snarled. 'We trusted you, and this is how you repay us? What did you do to Galbatorix?'

'He poisoned me,' said Galbatorix, leaning on Kaelyn. His breathing was perilously slow, his voice weak, and they could see cold sweat beading on his forehead.

Morzan hit Brom again. 'Gods damn you, Brom. Gods _damn_ you. I thought you were my _friend_.'

Brom spat blood. 'I _am_ your friend, Morzan,' he said. 'You're like a brother to me. But you can't go on working for that monster. You can't.'

'Don't you _dare_ talk about him like that!' Kaelyn shouted.

'Keep away from him,' said Brom. 'He's out of his mind. How could you believe any of those lies he told you?'

'He said it in the ancient language,' said Tranah. 'All of it.'

'You _idiots!'_ Brom raged. 'Don't you know anything? You can tell a lie in the ancient language if you believe it's real. He's insane; he believes it's all true, and he sucked you into believing it too. Don't you know what he is? Didn't he _tell_ you?'

Galbatorix tried to pull away from Kaelyn and approach Brom. But his legs folded under him and he collapsed, rolling onto his side, curled up like a dying grub, groaning in pain.

'He's a half-breed,' said Brom, wrenching his arm free and pointing it at him. 'Did you know, or did he lie about that too?'

The others paused over this.

'What?' said Tranah. 'A _half-breed?'_

'His mother was executed for fornicating with an elf,' said Brom. 'A _dark_ elf. He's one of them, don't you see? He's evil. He always was.'

Dead silence fell. The Forsworn glanced at each other, suddenly uncertain.

Brom laughed darkly. 'You didn't know, did you? I wonder how many other things you don't know about him? You've sworn yourselves to a filthy half-breed creature.'

Morzan gripped Zar'roc's hilt. 'And I don't care,' he said. He went to Galbatorix's side and lifted him to his feet, supporting him with a powerful arm around his shoulders. Galbatorix was still breathing, but his eyes were half-closed and his face had gone deathly pale.

Morzan pointed at Brom. 'Kill him,' he said.

Tranah, Roland and Strein only hesitated for a moment. They raised their swords. Brom closed his eyes and braced himself for the end.

'_No.'_

They froze.

Galbatorix had spoken. He lifted his head with difficulty, and though his voice was weak they had all heard it. 'No,' he said again. 'Don't… don't… let him go.'

'What?' said Morzan. 'What d'you mean, sir? He poisoned you!'

'I know,' Galbatorix rasped. 'Listen…' he looked at Brom. 'You saved my life, Brom. In return, I'll spare yours. Get out of here. Go back to Saphira, and go. We won't try and stop you. But listen to me. If – I – ever see you again, I will kill you. Do you understand?'

Brom pulled away from his captors. 'You won't live that long, half-breed,' he said.

'We'll… see about that,' said Galbatorix.

Brom knew better than to stay any longer. He glanced around quickly and fled, climbing up the mountain toward Saphira. The Forsworn let him go very reluctantly, and their dragons grudgingly pulled away from Saphira and let Brom return to her side. He healed the blue dragon's injuries and climbed onto her back, and she flew away as fast as she could go, her flight weaving and erratic.

Then she was gone, and the Forsworn gathered around their leader and helped him back inside. They laid him down by the fire and tried to revive him, urgently calling his name. His skin had gone icy cold and was slick with sweat, plastering his hair to his forehead. His face was milky-white and his hands trembled while his face twitched with pain. Kaelyn clutched at his shoulder. 'Master? Master, can you hear me?'

'What should we do?' Strein almost wailed.

'Just calm down-,' Tranah began.

'Give him some air!' Roland bellowed, shoving the others aside. 'Go on, get out of the damn way.' He took Kaelyn's place by Galbatorix's side, and laid two fingers on the side of his neck, checking for a pulse. 'It's very weak… sir? Sir? Can you hear me? If you can, just give me a signal.'

Galbatorix opened his eyes slowly and peered up at him.

'That's good enough for me,' said Roland. 'Listen, sir. You've got to stay awake. I don't care how much you want to sleep, stay awake. If you sleep, you'll die. Now tell me. What were you poisoned with? How much did you take? What did it taste like? What does it feel like? I have to know.'

Galbatorix's hands curled into fists. 'Small,' he whispered. 'Small… amount. Vomited it up again. Tasted… sweet. Made… stomach burn. Couldn't stand up. Can't… breathe.'

'Viper's Tears,' Roland muttered. 'Bloody bastard picked the best poison to use. Kaelyn, go and get me my bag, fast as you can.'

Kaelyn dashed off and brought it to him, struggling a little under the weight. Roland opened it and rummaged around inside, muttering to himself. 'C'mon, c'mon, show yourself, godsdammit… ahah!' He pulled out a small wooden box and placed it on the tabletop. It was carved from some kind of white wood, inlaid with silver runes. Roland opened it. The inside was lined with cloth, and a dozen small crystal vials rested in rows of dents made specifically to hold them. Roland started sorting through them, picking them up to examine them, one by one, still muttering feverishly. 'No, no, not quite, not this one… ahah! Here we go!' he held up a vial that contained a small amount of red liquid. 'All right,' he said to the others. 'This is the main ingredient of the antidote. But it needs something else. Has anyone got any _thint_ leaves?'

'I've got a few herbs in my bag,' said Strein, hurrying off to get it. She came up with a cloth pouch which contained a few dried plants, but there was only a single crumbling _thint_ leaf.

'That won't do,' said Roland. 'We need more of it. All right, everyone. We're going to go scouting for _thint_ leaves. Tuomas, Gern, Kaelyn, you stay here and watch over him. Keep him awake. For the love of gods, don't let him fall asleep or we'll lose him. If you have to, hit him. Understood?'

They nodded quickly.

'Right,' said Roland. 'Let's go.' He patted Galbatorix and said; 'Don't worry, sir, we'll be right back.' Then he ran for the entrance. Keth was waiting, and he swung himself nimbly onto her back. The gold dragon flew away at high speed. Aedua, Talziri and Idün had also been quick to respond. Their riders mounted up and flew away, leaving the three apprentices alone.

Galbatorix was still breathing, but they could hear an unpleasant rasping noise coming from his chest. His eyes were half-closed, and from time to time he would move slightly, although it was impossible to tell if he was trying to get up.

'Stay awake, Master,' said Tuomas. 'Please, just keep your eyes open.'

There was no response. Gern prodded Galbatorix in the side. 'C'mon, Master, don't give up on us. You've got to stay awake. I still want to learn things. Tell me about scrying. What are the words to use?'

Galbatorix's eyes closed. But then he started to speak, his voice low and weak, but coherent. '…Draumr kópa. You say… draumr kópa. Means… dream-stare. Say it over something that reflects. A mirror. Polished metal. Water. Even… even blood. If it works, it will go black and blank. Just stare into it and concentrate on whoever you want to see. Simple. If – if – it only works if you've seen that person before. If they're in a place you've never been, you won't see it, you'll just see them. Sometimes, when you try it, you see… nothing. Just darkness. That means… if you can't see them, it can mean they're dead. Or protected. Or too far away to reach.' He coughed. 'I… feel… awful.'

'It's all right, Master,' said Kaelyn. 'The others are looking for the antidote. They'll save you. Just stay awake. Please.'

Galbatorix groaned. 'All… all right. I just feel so tired…'

'Stop it!' Kaelyn almost commanded. 'Stay awake. Make your eyes stay open. Talk about something. Anything. Like that story you told the other night, the one about Blueyes and Tynyth Traeganni. How did it go? D'you remember?'

Galbatorix sighed and mumbled, but forced his eyes open. 'Help me sit up,' he said. 'It'll help me stay awake.'

Kaelyn, Tuomas and Gern took hold of his shoulders and raised him up into a sitting position. He huddled on the tabletop, hugging his knees, but it made him look much more lively. He rested his head on his knees, as if he were sulking about something, and they could see a hint of colour coming back into his face.

'The story,' Kaelyn persisted. 'How did the story go?'

Galbatorix coughed. 'Blueyes and Tynyth. Yes. There was… did you know Blueyes ended up ruling his people too?'

'Really?' said Gern. 'Why? Wasn't he blind?'

'Yes. But he… he lied. He told them he had drunk from the wellspring, and they believed it and made him their King. Islanzadí… she is his descendant. A whole… royal line based on a lie told by a blind coward.'

'Master, is it true?' said Kaelyn. 'What Brom said, is it true? Are you really a…?' she couldn't bring herself to say the word.

'Yes,' Galbatorix whispered. 'Yes, it's true. I am a half-breed.'

'Why didn't you tell us, Master?'

'I couldn't. It was… I had to keep it a secret. Everyone… everyone… every time I told someone, it meant bad things happened to me. I told Flell and she betrayed me. Sold me to the elders. That's why… they wanted to get rid of me. They hate half-breeds. Hate my people. The dark elves. My race. My dead race. _A' cur dallaidh air a léirsinn_… the dark elves, all gone now. Except me. The only one left. That's why… I'm fighting for them, and Laela too.'

'You should've told us,' said Tuomas.

Galbatorix clasped his hands together, entwining his long fingers with each other. 'Yes. Should have done many things. But I was afraid. Afraid of being alone. If – if – when people know, they don't treat me like I'm human any more. The elders. They wanted to kill me because of who my father was. They were afraid of me. I could see it in them. All the things they said. _We know what you are… half-breed… filthy half-breed… inhuman creature… the boy is insane, take him away and whip him, the boy is insane…'_ he broke off into a fit of coughing. He was starting to wander now, his voice sleepy and bewildered.

There was a sudden noise from the entrance. Kaelyn looked around sharply, fear and horrible realisation stabbing into her chest. _They should have been watching the entrance._

But it was only Shruikan. The black dragon had landed awkwardly, slamming into the side of the entrance. Now he staggered forward into the cave, his wings hanging loosely at his sides, heading straight for Galbatorix.

Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn stood aside, and Shruikan arched his neck over the table and nosed at Galbatorix's huddled form. He was making a strange high whimpering sound, unlike anything they had ever heard a dragon make. He was still wearing his saddle, and there were livid red wounds on his flanks and wings from Saphira's attack.

Galbatorix stirred and touched Shruikan's snout. For some time neither of them moved, as some unspoken mental communication passed between them, and a strange peace and stillness came over them both. But it did not last. Galbatorix shuddered and cried out, then fell backward onto the table, clutching at his stomach. He vomited, soiling his beard and robe, and the action seemed to give him even more pain, for he cried out again, not loudly, but with terrible anguish.

Kaelyn didn't think. She acted. She reached over and grabbed hold of Shruikan's neck-rope. The black dragon's head shot toward her almost instantly. Kaelyn dodged, and his jaws snapped shut an inch from her midriff. Shruikan roared at her, his eyes mad, and Tuomas and Gern, panicking, tried to pull Galbatorix away from him. A mistake. Shruikan rushed forward, bowling them over, and stood over his rider's limp form, snarling and savage.

Ithír, Liahdorus and Sartago came running to protect their riders, standing behind or beside them and spreading their wings protectively, threatening Shruikan with their fangs and claws. He roared at them, moving as if to attack, and the three apprentices started to panic. Without Galbatorix there to restrain him, Shruikan was out of control.

But Kaelyn, looking on, saw what the two boys did not – namely, the terror in the black dragon's eyes.

A strange calm came over her. She didn't hesitate. She reached out with her mind.

Shruikan's mind was a mass of confused fear and aggression. At first he lashed out mentally at her, but she probed gently at him, letting him feel her presence and recognise it. Her calm soothed him, and he let her in.

'_It's all right,'_ she told him. _'Be still, Shruikan.'_

Shruikan radiated pitiful bewilderment. _'He's dying,'_ he said, his voice harsh and animal as always. _'Galbatorix is dying.'_

'_I know,' _said Kaelyn. _'But you can't help him like that.'_

'_I can feel his pain,'_ said Shruikan. _'What's wrong with him?'_

'_He's been poisoned,'_ said Kaelyn. _'Listen; Shruikan… I need your help. There's a leaf we need to cure him. Will you help me look for it?'_

Shruikan hesitated. _'If it will save him, then I will.'_

Kaelyn walked toward him. He waited for her, a huge dark shadow, his eyes still ablaze.

Tuomas grabbed her arm. 'Kaelyn, no! What the hell are you doing?'

Kaelyn shook him off. 'I'm fine,' she snapped, and without any hesitation she went straight to Shruikan's side and put a hand on his neck. He growled softly at this, but crouched down and let her climb into his saddle.

'What are you doing?' said Gern, not daring to come any closer.

Kaelyn looked down on him, feeling a hundred times bigger and stronger than before. 'I'm going to find that herb,' she said. 'You stay here. Keep him awake.'

Shruikan turned away and ran for the entrance, his powerful legs bearing him over the cave floor with shocking speed, his claws thudding on the stone. Kaelyn held on tight and braced herself, and moments later Shruikan had reached the open air and hurled himself off the ledge. His wings unfurled, and Kaelyn felt the wind rush and roar around her ears and take them into itself. She had no time to be afraid. They were flying.

She had never flown on a dragon alone, and as Shruikan levelled his flight and began to head out of the mountains she was suddenly doubtful. But she breathed deeply and imagined that Galbatorix was there with her, his strength and calm making her feel safe. She could hear his voice in her head. _Don't sit stiffly in the saddle. Relax. Let yourself move with Shruikan. When he turns, lean with him. Keep low; shelter behind his neck so the wind doesn't knock you out of the saddle, let the wind flow around you. If you resist it too much, you'll exhaust yourself._

Kaelyn relaxed and let herself move in harmony with Shruikan. She made mental contact with him again and said; _'Head for the forest. Anywhere where there's trees.'_

Shruikan felt much calmer now. _'Hold on,'_ he advised, and let a strong alpine wind carry them away over the mountains. He flew until he saw a wooded valley below him, and then came down to land. Kaelyn jumped off and paused, standing on the leaf-litter. It was very dark among the trees – how was she going to see what she was doing? She hadn't brought a torch with her.

She cast about for inspiration, but could only think of one solution. She was going to have to use magic.

But she'd never learnt how to make light using magic. Still, how hard could it be? _'Shruikan,'_ she said. _'Do you know what the word for "light" is in the ancient language?'_

Shruikan shuffled his wings. _'What are you trying to do? Where's the plant?'_

'_I can't see anything,'_ said Kaelyn. _'I need to use magic to light this place up. But I don't know the word to use.'_

'_It's "kveykva",'_ said Shruikan.

'Kveykva,' Kaelyn repeated. She said it several times, trying out the sound of the word. It was difficult to pronounce, but she was determined to get it right. 'Kveykva, kveykva, kveykva…' once she was satisfied, she took in a deep breath, raised her right hand, opened the mental channel to her magic as Galbatorix had taught her, and said; 'Kveykva!' as loudly and clearly as she could.

And there was light. Almost instantly, a glow of grey magic appeared in a halo around her hand. She could feel her energy flowing out of her, but she didn't panic. She concentrated, willing the light to spread. And spread it did, moving out from her until she was surrounded by a silvery glow that lit up the trees all around.

Kaelyn grinned. Without pausing, she set off into the forest, searching for _thint _leaves. Galbatorix had taught her a few things about useful plants and how to find them in a forest. The herb known as the _thint_-vine was found growing at the bases of oak trees, so she ignored the pines and firs that made up most of the forest and headed for the nearest oak tree. There was nothing there, so she moved on, steadily and determinedly quartering the forest, always on the lookout for the little five-tined leaves that would save her master's life.

The search took longer than she had expected. As she covered more ground but failed to find what she was after, she began to speed up, fear making her scalp prickle. She could hear Shruikan stirring restlessly where she had left him, groaning from time to time. But he was still alive, and that meant that Galbatorix lived too. But for how much longer she didn't know. The magical light flickered slightly. Her concentration was wavering in her distress. But she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay calm and focused.

Shruikan reached out for her with his mind. _'Human… Kaelyn… have you found it?'_

'_Not yet,'_ said Kaelyn. _'There's got to be some of it here… there's got to be!'_

'_He's talking to me,'_ said Shruikan. _'He's alive. He's telling me not to panic. The others are returning. None of them have the leaves yet…' _she felt the dragon's mind shudder softly. _'He's in pain. It's burning at me…'_

Kaelyn swore and broke into a half-run. A mistake. Her foot caught on a rock, and she pitched forward, landing painfully on her stomach. She cursed again, pulling herself up. Her magical light was becoming dim. She was losing her focus. And then, at long last, her eyes were drawn to something that lay only a few paces in front of her.

It was a slender green vine, innocently growing around the base of a small oak tree. The leaves were slender, each one having five prongs and a series of red veins running over its surface.

Kaelyn's face lit up with a great grin. She darted forward and tore handfuls of leaves from the vine. They oozed a sticky, lemony-scented sap, but she stuffed them into her pockets and ran back to Shruikan. 'I've got them!' she called as she ran. 'I've got them, Shruikan!'

Shruikan had heard her. He came to meet her, and lay almost flat so she could get on his back. The instant she was in the saddle the black dragon took off, so recklessly that he hit an overhanging branch. It nearly took Kaelyn's head off, but she leaned over to avoid it, and it hit Shruikan's shoulder and broke, tangling itself in the saddle and half-crushing her leg. She swore and unhooked it as best she could, sending it tumbling back to earth, narrowly missing Shruikan's wing.

Neither of them paused over this. Shruikan flew straight up and turned toward the mountain, flying back at full speed. He reached the entrance to the cave after a few pulse-pounding minutes in the air, and flew straight through it. He made no attempt to slow down, and simply folded his wings in order to fit through, making an awkward stumbling landing halfway along the chamber which nearly pitched him over headfirst.

The others were already there, grouped around Galbatorix with their heads bowed, but they turned very sharply when Shruikan arrived.

Kaelyn jumped down from his back and ran to them. 'I've got it!' she shouted. 'I've got the leaves!' She reached into her pockets and brought out the herb, showing it to them.

Roland's face split into a disbelieving grin. 'Kaelyn, you're a marvel!' he exclaimed, coming to meet her. 'Quick, give them to me. There's no time to lose.'

Kaelyn handed them over, and followed him back to the table. There he put several of the leaves into a small mortar and ground them up with a pestle. Someone handed him the vial of red liquid, and he flicked the cork out with his thumb and added a few drops, mashing the leaves together with it until they had become a fine paste.

Galbatorix was still lying on the table, barely breathing. His face was starting to turn blue.

'We thought we were going to lose him,' said Roland. 'After everyone came back empty-handed, there was no time to go out for another try. He would've been dead by the time we got back. Luckily this stuff works fast…' he put aside the pestle and picked up a small spoon. 'Someone get me some water, c'mon, chop chop.'

Morzan poured some into a mug and handed it over. Roland scooped up some of the paste with the spoon and mixed it into the water, then said; 'Someone lift him up. He's got to drink this.'

Morzan and Tranah lifted Galbatorix into a sitting position, and Roland lifted the mug to his mouth. 'Drink, sir,' he urged. 'Drink this.'

For a few heart-stopping seconds Galbatorix did not respond.

Kaelyn grabbed hold of his hand. 'Drink, Master!' she pleaded. 'Please, drink!'

Galbatorix's mouth moved. Roland tipped up the mug, and he drank the contents, swallowing it little by little until it was all gone.

Afterwards Tranah and Morzan gently laid him down again, and Roland put down the mug and wiped his brow. 'There,' he said. 'Now all we have to do is hope we got it in time.'

The tension slowly drained out of the atmosphere as the others sighed and let themselves relax.

Tranah stepped over to Roland and hugged him tightly. 'Roland, you're magnificent,' she said.

Roland looked a little embarrassed. 'Ah, well, I do me best…'

The others joined Tranah in congratulating him. Even Morzan clapped him on the back and said; 'We got damn lucky, finding you, mate.'

'Well,' said Roland. 'I can't say I'm the only person who deserves to be thanked.' He turned to Kaelyn and took her hands, his big rough fists nearly engulfing them. 'I want to thank you, Kaelyn,' he said gravely. 'If it weren't for you, Lord Galbatorix would be dead by now.'

'And that was her first time out alone,' Tranah put in. 'She'd never flown a dragon unaccompanied before.'

'And she got Shruikan to help her,' Tuomas piped up. 'He was going mad; he nearly killed her, but she made him help her. It was amazing!'

The others murmured. Shruikan lumbered over to sniff at Galbatorix, then looked at Kaelyn. _'You have my gratitude, Kaelyn,'_ he said, letting everyone hear him. _'I was panicking. Without you, we would have been lost.'_

Kaelyn saw the others looking at her with a new respect, even admiration. She blushed. 'I did my best,' she mumbled. 'Anyway…' she looked at Galbatorix. Some colour had returned to his face, and his breathing was stronger. 'He's my master. I had to do whatever I could for him.'

'And I know he'll thank you when he wakes up,' said Roland. 'But we all owe you for this, Kaelyn. If it weren't for you, we'd have lost our leader, and that would have meant disaster for all of us. Maybe death.'

Kaelyn smiled shyly. 'It was you who made the antidote, Roland.'

'She's right there,' said Strein. 'You've only been with us for a day or so and you've already proven yourself to be just the kind of man we need.'

Roland chuckled. 'That's kind of you to say so, Strein. But you, Kaelyn. I think once you're trained, you'll be a very great rider indeed.'

'Thankyou,' said Kaelyn.

They turned to watch Galbatorix. He was still pale and limp, but his breathing was improving steadily. Roland went to his side and checked his pulse again. 'He's looking well. I think he'll pull through. He's a strong man.'

'How long will he take to recover?' said Tranah.

'Not too long, hopefully,' said Roland. 'He should be fully conscious by tomorrow, and with any luck he'll be up and about again within a day or so. The weakness will linger for a while, and he might have a delicate stomach for a few weeks, but other than that there shouldn't be any lasting damage.'

'He'll be fine,' Morzan said confidently. 'Like I said, he's one tough son of a bitch. We'll look after him 'till he's better.'

'The problem is that we might not have that long,' said Roland. 'That cursed poisoner will tell them where we are, you can be sure of that. How long that'll take I can't be certain, but sooner or later we'll be attacked, and I, personally, would prefer not to be here when that happens.'

Tranah nodded. 'We'll have to move on,' she said. 'And soon.'

'As soon as Galbatorix wakes up,' said Morzan.

'I agree,' said Roland. He yawned and stretched. 'As for me, I think it's time I got some rest, and the rest of you should, too. But someone ought to stay by him and keep an eye on him.'

'I'll do it,' said Kaelyn.

'Very well,' said Roland. 'There's no question we can trust you to do that, eh, Kaelyn?'

He clapped her on the back and walked wearily over to his bedroll. The others congratulated her again and departed.

Kaelyn stayed by Galbatorix, watching him. Shruikan and Sartago both joined her, and she sat down on the table, not taking her eyes off her master's face.

The light dimmed as the others snuffed out the torches, leaving only the fire to illuminate the cave. Kaelyn could feel the warm presence of the two dragons with her, and hear Galbatorix's faint breathing. It was a sound that gave her hope. He would be all right. She knew it.

After a while she plucked up courage and took his hand, holding it in hers. She could feel the life pulsing under his skin, and she held onto him, letting her warmth go into him.

After a while the moon, rising steadily overhead, shone in through a hole in the roof, throwing a shaft of silver light over Galbatorix's face. He seemed to be aware of it; his eyelids flickered, and he sighed – a deep, peaceful sigh.

Kaelyn was not aware of any tiredness. She stayed by him as the night marched on, holding onto his hand and just watching him until the sun finally rose.

When the first rays of the sun shone in through the entrance, Galbatorix sighed and opened his eyes. He looked at Kaelyn, and his hand moved in hers.

'…Kaelyn?'

Kaelyn smiled. 'Good morning, Master. How do you feel?'

Galbatorix blinked. 'My head hurts.'

'You'll be fine,' said Kaelyn.

'Did you stay with me all night?'

'Yes.'

'You didn't need to do that,' said Galbatorix.

'But I did it anyway,' said Kaelyn.

Galbatorix didn't reply. He had gone back to sleep. Kaelyn watched him as he murmured softly in his sleep, his pale, handsome face completely relaxed. That was when she knew that she loved him.


	34. On Disaster's Wings

Chapter Thirty-Four

On Disaster's Wings

Roland had been correct. By midday on the day following his brush with death, Galbatorix was sitting up and asking for food. At first he was unable to manage anything but water, but when dinnertime came around he ate a generous helping and managed to keep it down, which Roland said was a good sign. Although the others urged him to keep still and rest, he got up and walked around the cave, moving slowly and a little unsteadily, but with determination. Kaelyn walked beside him, letting him lean on her when he needed to, and it was touching to see how concerned she was for him.

Galbatorix was quick to ask about what had happened.

'You nearly died, sir,' said Roland. 'Fortunately I know a thing or two about poisons and was able to provide an antidote, thanks to Kaelyn here, who found the ingredient I needed.'

'Kaelyn was _amazing,_ sir,' said Tuomas. 'She got Shruikan to carry her out to look for it, and she was the only one who found it. If it weren't for her, you'd have died.'

Galbatorix looked at Kaelyn. 'You _rode_ Shruikan? On your own?'

Kaelyn nodded.

'How?'

'I reached into his mind,' said Kaelyn. 'I got him to calm down and told him I needed him to help me save you. And when we got there I couldn't see what I was doing, so I figured out how to make light with magic, and I searched around until I found the plant.'

The others murmured in surprise at this.

'You figured out the spell on your own?' said Galbatorix.

'Yes. I asked Shruikan for the word, and then I just… opened the channel like you taught me to, and it worked.' She couldn't resist smiling with pride.

Galbatorix bowed his head to her. 'You're a great rider, Kaelyn,' he said solemnly. 'I owe you my life.'

'I was reckless,' said Kaelyn.

'That doesn't matter,' said Galbatorix. 'Courage, resourcefulness, calm in a crisis… you acted like a fully-trained rider should, and I'm proud of you, and grateful as well.'

'You saved my life first, Master,' said Kaelyn. 'Now I've repaid you.'

Galbatorix smiled, but then became serious again. 'What about Brom?' he asked, turning to Morzan and the others.

'He got away,' said Morzan, scowling. 'You shouldn't have done that, sir. You should have let us kill the bastard. How could he do that to you? He was your _friend._ And he didn't even try and kill you like a warrior should. Poison? What kind of man uses poison? It's a woman's weapon. Or a coward's.'

'Excuse _me,'_ said Tranah. 'I can promise you right now that you'd never catch me using poison either. A woman's weapon, my left boot. It's a traitor's weapon is what it is. And Morzan's right, sir. You shouldn't have made us let him go. He'll tell them all about us – where we are, who we are, what we're planning. The attack on Vroengard's a lost cause.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I don't doubt we'll pay a price for letting him live. But killing him like that, four against one… that would have been just as cowardly. And besides, he was my friend, and he saved my life twice. That's not something to be taken lightly.'

Morzan spat. 'To hell with that. If I see him again, I'll cut his damned head off. And you can't stop me.'

'I won't,' said Galbatorix. 'If I get the chance before you do, I'll kill him myself. If he's got any sense at all he'll go into hiding.'

'It's good to have you back, sir,' said Tranah.

'That it is,' said Roland. 'Having you die on us would've been a disaster.'

Galbatorix sighed and tried to flatten his hair. 'That was a near miss. Too near. We're just lucky we didn't tell Brom too much. He doesn't know about our methods, or where we get our information, so that's all still secure. But the Vroengard attack is over with. Even if we left right now, the odds are the news could get there before us, and without the element of surprise it's futile. And we'll have to leave here. As soon as possible.'

'I agree, sir,' said Roland. 'But… if you don't mind, there is something I would like to know.'

'Ask away,' said Galbatorix in a resigned tone, as if he'd already guessed.

Roland looked a little hesitant. 'I am… I really am very sorry to be suggesting this, but I cannot rest easy until I know. Was that traitor's accusation true? Are you a half-breed?'

The others were listening closely now. Evidently they had all been thinking the same thing. Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn looked slightly ashamed for some reason.

Galbatorix knew there was no point in hiding it any longer. 'It's true,' he said.

Silence followed.

'If I may ask… why didn't you tell us?' said Roland.

'Because I'm a coward,' said Galbatorix, shame-faced. 'I've kept it secret all my life, ever since I found out about it, and everyone I ever confessed it to turned on me. I didn't tell you because I was afraid that, if you knew, you'd abandon me. I was… I wish I hadn't. If I'd just had the courage to admit it… I lied to you by letting you swear yourselves to me before you knew the whole story. I suppose…' he looked at the ground, his voice low and miserable. 'I suppose I really am just a lying, filthy-blooded half-breed bastard. If you want me to, I'll release you from your oaths. I can understand if you don't trust me any more.'

The Forsworn glanced at each other.

'Sir, I hate to sound rude, but that's pathetic,' said Tranah.

Several of the others made sounds of mingled anger and shock at this. Galbatorix, however, remained calm. 'Why do you say that, Tranah?'

'Listen to me,' said Tranah, her voice firm, almost motherly. 'For most of my life I was ashamed of what I was. And I was even more ashamed of hiding it. It made me feel dirty inside, like I was lying with every breath I took. But you… when I came to you, all that changed. You taught me that I should take pride in who and what I was; you told me never to apologise or to look for approval from anyone else. Not even you. You gave me something I had been looking for all my life, so how can you deny it to yourself?'

'The lady is right,' said Roland. '_My_ parents made a living shovelling horse manure, but they were my parents all the same, and I was never ashamed of them.'

'I never knew my parents,' Galbatorix said softly. 'They were both beheaded the day after I was born.'

'What were their names, sir?' said Strein. 'Do you know?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Ingë Taranisäii was my mother. My father was Skandar Traeganni. He was a slave.'

'"Traeganni"?' Tuomas repeated. 'You mean like… Tynyth Traeganni?'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'Tynyth the Half-Sighted.'

'But that's… that's amazing, Master!' said Tuomas. 'That means you're a prince!'

Galbatorix laughed in spite of himself. 'A prince of nothing,' he said. 'The dark elves are all dead now. The riders hounded them into extinction. But I was their King. Just for an hour or so, I was a King.'

'What d'you mean, sir?' said Morzan.

'I went North,' said Galbatorix. 'To hide. And I found the last of the dark elves there. They took me in and let me live with them for months, and they taught me their magic. How to move in shadows, how to create a black fire that never goes out. And I met my grandmother there. Arthryn Traeganni. She was a seer, and she told me it was my destiny to be a King one day. And it came true.' He laughed bitterly. 'Oh yes. King Galbatorix Taranisäii, the one whose reign began and ended in a day.'

'What happened, sir?' said Roland.

'We were discovered,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'A pair of riders must have managed to track me… I don't know how they did it, but they found our hiding place, and they massacred the dark elves. The Queen was killed, and they gave me her crown and told me I was their ruler. But I only ever gave one command… run. And it wasn't enough to save them. They all died. Laela and I escaped, but the riders caught up with us, and that was how she died. So my destiny came to pass. I was a King, and in a way I still am. King of the ashes and snow, King of the dead.' His expression twisted.

'But that's nothing to be ashamed of,' said Roland. 'Don't you see, sir? You're a living example of what the riders did. You saw them wipe out an entire race with your own eyes; you're a witness to their crimes. Why on earth would you be ashamed of who your father was? Or your mother? I've heard of the Taranisäiis. There's few old families more respected. They even had the blood of the old Kings in them. Taranisäii… Traeganni… by all accounts you've got more noble blood in you than old King Palencar himself. But it's not your ancestry I care about, it's you. And you haven't led us wrong yet, and I don't believe you ever will. So if you don't mind, I intend to go on following you, half-breed bastard or no.'

The rest of the Forsworn nodded.

'I don't give a damn if you're pure human or not,' said Morzan. 'You got me out of their clutches, and for that I'd do anything to repay you. I mean… Brom was my friend, but he ain't now after what he did. But you – you never lied to me, you were never cruel to me, you always made me feel like I was worth something. The elders are strong, but they haven't got what you've got.'

'A heart,' said Kaelyn. 'It might be a bit rough around the edges, it might have a few holes in it, but it's still your heart. That's what you told me.'

Galbatorix hesitated. 'Well, if you're sure…'

'Of course we're sure,' Roland said stoutly.

In spite of his lingering weakness, Galbatorix was very keen to leave Orthíad as soon as possible. In fact, after they'd eaten the evening meal, he immediately stood up and said; 'All right. It's high time we left.'

'I suggest we wait until dawn,' said Roland. 'You're still weak, sir, and travelling would delay your recovery. Besides which, I highly doubt they could get this far in the time.'

The others agreed, so Galbatorix said; 'All right. But I'm not leaving it any longer than dawn tomorrow. No unecessary risks.'

'I'm right behind you there, sir,' said Roland. 'I would rather not get myself killed anytime soon if it's all the same to you.'

'It's settled, then,' said Galbatorix.

Later, once they'd eaten, he went outside to watch the moon rise, as was his custom. Kaelyn went to join him, and found him sitting cross-legged, combing his hair. She sat down beside him without saying anything.

Galbatorix glanced at her. 'Hello, Kaelyn.'

Kaelyn did not miss the quietness in his voice. 'Yesterday was awful,' she said. 'I've never been so scared. I thought you were going to die.'

'It was a near miss,' Galbatorix agreed. 'I was lucky I had you there, wasn't I? I suppose I really _do_ have a lot of luck. I've lived through a lot. That wasn't the first time I've looked death in the face. But as long as I've got friends like you, I'll be all right, won't I?'

Kaelyn was watching him closely. 'You really _do_ look like an elf, you know,' she said, without thinking. 'I didn't see it before, but you do. Even without the ears. But you don't look like any of the elves I saw in Ellesméra. You're different.'

'How?' said Galbatorix. He sounded geniunely curious.

'You're darker,' Kaelyn said honestly. 'Rougher. Not so… glossy? But kinder as well. You don't _sneer _like they do.'

'My people didn't have much in common with the Southern elves, really,' said Galbatorix. 'We – they – were so alike, but so different at the same time. All elves live in the wild, with the animals. But the Southern elves live in warm forests and valleys. The dark elves were Northern; they lived where there was snow and fir trees. Cold country, and barren. It meant they were tough and hardy. They lived roughly – I suppose you could even say they were primitive – but they had a way about them that was so graceful. They were elegant, but in a different way than the Southern elves.'

'What were they like?' said Kaelyn.

'Why, like me, of course. Dark and silent and unsmiling. They wore black robes and had black hair and eyes. Very tall, with long limbs. They had pointed ears, of course, but they liked to wear a lot of rings and studs in them, and sometimes they'd decorate their hair with feathers and ornaments carved out of bone. They used spiral patterns to symbolise different things, and some of them would tattoo their faces with these designs – all of them meant something different. If a dark elvish woman couldn't conceive, she would mark herself with a design that meant "new life" – two spirals entwined, one light, one dark. And they had their own language. _Ach chyfaill ai cas?_ – that means "be ye friend or foe?". I never had the time to learn it properly. It's a dead language now. If anyone ever wrote a dictionary for it, it's been outlawed and burned by now.'

'Will you teach me some of it?' Kaelyn asked.

'If you'd like. It's a beautiful language, isn't it?'

'It sounds strange,' said Kaelyn. 'Sort of harsh. But I like it.'

'I can teach you a dark elvish song, if you'd like,' said Galbatorix.

'Sing it for me,' said Kaelyn.

'I'm a terrible singer, but all right.' He cleared his throat and began.

_Ag 'r yn arwyrain chan leaud, Chwilia 'ch,_

_A pryd 'r heula ydy 'n befr, 'm asgre ewyllysia baedda achos eiddo,_

_Cant blynedd i mewn yn corddi, yn disgwyl am 'r darfod,_

_Pryd Dwi farw a 'r am-dro belts 'm honnen at 'r awyr,_

_Argesia 'm gwynebu i mewn arianna byllau, chwilia drwo allt a faestir_

_Namyn pryd 'r leuad arwyreinir a 'r chyneua chw liau pawb at bwrw eira_

_Chwilia 'm i mewn 'r chysgodau a canfyddi 'm 'na._'

Kaelyn listened. The tune was beautiful, but it was sung so quickly and effortlessly, and the sounds were so completely foreign to anything she knew that she was bewildered.

'What is it about?'

'It's a love song,' said Galbatorix. 'It goes like this; "With the rising of the moon, I will look for you, And when the sun is bright, my heart will beat for yours. A hundred years in turning, waiting for the end, When I am dead and the wind blows my ash to the sky, Seek my face in silver pools, search the wood and plain. But when the moon is risen and the light turns all to snow, Seek me in a shadow, and you will find me there".'

'It sounds so strange,' said Kaelyn. 'How do the words go in dark elvish again?'

'It's easy,' said Galbatorix. 'Just repeat them after me. "Ag 'r yn arwyrain chan leaud, Chwilia 'ch-",'

Kaelyn tried to say the words, but they came out sounding like gibberish, and in spite of herself she burst out laughing. 'I can't say that! I sound like I've got an ember on my tongue!'

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'I suppose it's not easy at first. I had some trouble with it too. Let's try something a little simpler.' He pointed at the moon. 'The moon. In dark elvish it can be called _lloer_ or _lleaud_. Right now it's a crescent – _tharian lleaud_ – "the protecting moon". The crescent symbolises a shield, you see. The dark elves used a kind of weapon that was sickle-shaped to represent the crescent moon. It was called a _Lleaublaen_ – literally, "Moon-Fang". I learned a bit about how to use one, but I decided I preferred my sword.' He touched the hilt of the sword, which was slung on his back as always. 'White Violence. In the ancient language; Hvítr Atganga. Or, in dark elvish, Gwynnwy Angerdd.' He grinned. 'If you'd prefer, I can teach you how to swear in dark elvish. While I was in the North I got to be good friends with an elf in the tribe whose name was Skand. He taught me all the best cursing. "Cursing fit for a King", he called it.'

They laughed companionably.

'I really like you, Galbatorix,' said Kaelyn.

'I like you too, Kaelyn,' Galbatorix answered.

'You always seem so lonely,' Kaelyn went on, screwing up her courage. 'It makes me sad.'

'I'm all right,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm not lonely. I've got you and all the others to keep me company, haven't I? You're the best friends a man could ask for, and it'd be selfish of me to ask for anything else.'

'But no-one's close to you,' said Kaelyn. 'You haven't got a family.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'No, I suppose not.' He was still holding the comb he'd been using, and he turned it over in his fingers, examining it pensively. It was wooden, carved with dragon designs, and a couple of the teeth were broken.

'It shouldn't be like that,' said Kaelyn. 'You shouldn't be alone like that, Galbatorix. You don't deserve it.'

'These things happen,' said Galbatorix, shrugging.

'Tranah said you have trouble letting people get close to you because of what Flell did to you,' said Kaelyn, astonished by her own boldness.

Galbatorix started to look slightly annoyed. 'Maybe. Who cares?'

'_I_ care,' said Kaelyn.

Galbatorix said nothing. His eyes had gone cold, and Kaelyn wilted inside. 'I'm sorry,' she faltered.

'Just leave me,' said Galbatorix, turning away. 'Please. I'd rather be alone right now.'

Kaelyn's heart sank. 'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I didn't-,'

'Just go.'

Kaelyn got up and stumbled away. There was a lump in her throat. She tried to fight it down, but she couldn't. Shame and humiliation made her feel hot all over. She couldn't face the others inside, and walked away along the ledge, picking her way along the outside of the mountain until she found a spot hidden behind a heap of rocks. There she sat down, huddling against the mountainside to stay out of the wind. Misery made her heart ache, and the lump in her throat swelled. She fought to control herself for a few moments, and then burst into tears.

She cried for a long time, not noticing the cold mountain air. Despair and self-hatred took a hold of her, black and crushing. She had acted like an idiot, she berated herself again and again. She had fooled herself to think that Galbatorix would ever love her. How could he? He was so strange, so distant, so unreachable and unobtainable. His occasional shows of cheerfulness and humour had lulled her into thinking that she understood him, but she saw now that she had been wrong. He was beyond her comprehension, and for all that she adored him, for all that she loved his glittering eyes and the graceful way he moved, he would never be hers. And now she had made a fool of herself in front of him, and she knew it, and she would never be able to look him in the face again. He would never see her as more than just an untried, naïve girl. Even though he was only a few years older than her, he had a strength and a depth of experience she did not, and it placed them so far apart that the gap could never be bridged.

Kaelyn continued to sob into her hands, tears wetting her face. _Broken-hearted,_ she thought wildly. _I'm broken-hearted. Just like in the songs. And it really does hurt._

She calmed down slightly after a while, worn out from crying, and started to think it was time she returned to the cave. But as she stared up at the moon and sighed, she heard a faint sound to her right. She looked around sharply, and her heart froze inside her. There was a shadow on the ledge, and it was moving. It was alive.

Kaelyn reached for her sword, but then the shadow came closer and she realised what it was. Galbatorix, coming toward her out of the gloom. He looked much taller all of a sudden, and darker, like a piece of living night. But then she saw his expression was concerned.

'Kaelyn,' he said. 'There you are.'

Kaelyn turned away. 'I'm sorry,' she said, shuddering. 'I shouldn't've – I shouldn't – I'm s-sorry, Master. J-just don't… don't bother about me. I'm just a stupid girl.' She started to cry again.

But the next moment Galbatorix was there, touching her shoulder. 'Kaelyn, I'm sorry. Don't cry.'

But Kaelyn couldn't help herself. Galbatorix took her in his arms and held onto her to comfort her. His thin body was warm and strong against hers, and she could feel his heart beating inside him. His beard brushed against her cheek, and she held onto him, her fingers touching the soft curls of his hair.

'It's all right,' Galbatorix murmured. 'It's all right, Kaelyn. Please don't cry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that.'

Kaelyn's sobs died away, and she relaxed into his arms. 'I'm sorry,' she mumbled.

Galbatorix let go of her. 'There,' he said. 'All right now?'

Their eyes met. And, not stopping to think for a moment, Kaelyn stood up as tall as she could and kissed him. Just once, lightly, but on the lips.

Galbatorix pulled away from her. 'Kaelyn, no. Don't.'

'Why?' Kaelyn demanded, suddenly close to anger. 'Am I not good enough for you?'

'No, Kaelyn. It's not that.'

'Then what is it?' said Kaelyn. 'Is it because of Flell? I'm not like her, Galbatorix. I just want to be close to you. I love you.'

Galbatorix hesitated, and Kaelyn pulled him toward her and kissed him again. Galbatorix touched her face. 'Kaelyn, please. Don't do this to me.'

'Why?' she whispered, aware of how exquisitely close they were at that moment. 'Why, Galbatorix? What's wrong with it?'

He was warm in her grasp, his muscles tense, wonderfully and powerfully alive, like a great cat or a wolf poised to spring. All of Kaelyn's doubts fled, and she kissed him a third time, more passionately. And Galbatorix kissed her back. For a moment they were entwined, breathing together, their hearts pounding in time, becoming one being just for a moment. But then Galbatorix pushed her off him, turning and stumbling away over the ledge. Kaelyn went after him, taking hold of his arm. 'Galbatorix, what's wrong?'

He grasped her shoulders, holding her still. 'Please,' he breathed. 'I can't do this. It's wrong.'

'Why?' said Kaelyn.

Galbatorix bowed his head, his face full of shame. 'Every promise I ever made, I broke. I promised the elders I would serve them loyally all my life, but I betrayed them. I promised my parents I would see them again, but they died because of me. I promised Laela I wouldn't let her be hurt, but she's dead and I survived. I promised Flell I would keep her safe, but I destroyed her life. I promised my people that I would lead them, but I ran away and let them die. I only have one promise left, and that promise I won't break. Not ever. Not for anyone or anything.'

'What promise?' said Kaelyn.

'A promise I made to a woman I loved with all my heart,' said Galbatorix. 'We had to part, but I took an oath to her that I would never love anyone else but her, and that I would wait for her to come back to me. The love I have for her is the only thing left in me that hasn't been corrupted.'

Kaelyn stared at him, full of hurt and bewilderment. 'But I love you,' she said.

Galbatorix let go of her. 'No you don't,' he said. 'You don't know me. And I'm not worthy of you, Kaelyn. You're young and innocent. You've never seen darkness, or felt it inside you and, gods willing, you never will. I don't have any illusions about what I am. I'm a murderer, and a traitor, and an oathbreaker. I've violated the laws of magic as well as those of gods and men. There's a stain on my soul that can never be removed, and no matter where I go or what I do, terrible things happen around me. Fight for me if you choose, but for your own sake, keep away from me. If anything happened to you because of me, I would never forgive myself. So if you care about me, don't do this to me. I can't bear any more pain; I just can't. Please, Kaelyn.'

'I understand,' Kaelyn said softly. She embraced him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and then she let him go. As she did so, she suddenly noticed a strange mark on his neck, and reached out to touch it. 'What's this?' she asked.

'It's nothing,' said Galbatorix.

And then the peaceful night was shattered by a noise that came from overhead.

It was the roar of a dragon – Shruikan.

Galbatorix and Kaelyn froze, turning to look over at the dark mountains. Shruikan roared again, his voice echoed by those of the other dragons keeping watch with him.

Kaelyn and Galbatorix saw what it was at the same time.

'Oh dear gods in heaven, no,' Galbatorix breathed.

There was a group of dragons flying straight for Orthíad, just visible in the night sky. And the one leading them was massive – so massive it blotted out the moon and stars.

Galbatorix grabbed Kaelyn's arm. 'Run!' he snapped. 'Now! Run to the cave and warn the others. Tell them to get out. Get out now! Don't try and fight, just run. Get out of the mountain, get to your dragons, and fly. Go North. That's a direct order. Understood? Go North!'

Kaelyn nodded. 'But what about you?'

'Don't worry about me, just go!'

Kaelyn ran. As soon as she had gone, Galbatorix began to concentrate. He summoned up his magic and muttered a string of words in the ancient language.

Almost instantly, light appeared. It outlined him in pure white, spreading out from him in a blaze of glory, lighting up the night. It was a beacon, and one the oncoming dragons and their riders saw straight away. Standing in the midst of it, Galbatorix drew his sword and shouted; '_COME_!'

His voice, amplified by magic, carried out over the mountains, and it drew them straight to him, just as he had hoped.

Shruikan was quick to respond as well. He dropped out of the sky and landed by Galbatorix's side on the ledge, perching there precariously. Overhead, Galbatorix heard a dragon take flight, and then another. The Forsworn were making their escape. _'The storm,'_ he told Shruikan.

Shruikan needed no further encouragement. With Galbatorix's help, he began to work the power that was in him, reaching out toward the heavens to summon up the storm.

It came. Lightning flashed in the sky, which began to go dark, blanketing itself with thick clouds.

The first of the dragons was nearly on them. Galbatorix could see even more clearly just how large it was. It was at least three times Shruikan's size, and as it got closer he saw that its scales were dark blue.

His heart skipped a beat. He knew this dragon. _Nyx…_

For a moment fear touched him, but as the storm gathered its power the mental channel between him and Shruikan opened, and the dragon's raw ferocity flowed into him like molten metal.

Galbatorix's eyes became blank and savage. His heart beat faster, and a killing violence rose up inside him, turning his blood into liquid fire.

He climbed onto Shruikan's back, and the black dragon reared onto his hind legs and roared again, sending a challenge to his enemies. Lightning struck dangerously close to the mountain, sending white tendrils of light skittering crazily over the blasted stones.

'_MENULIS!'_ Galbatorix bellowed, feeling the fighting madness take hold of him. '_Here I am, Menulis! Here is your Great Betrayer, and you fight me if you dare!_'

The response from Menulis was instantaneous. A massive blast of dark blue magic shot straight for him, big enough to engulf both himself and Shruikan. Galbatorix blocked it instantly. The shielding spell was enough to protect them. Just. It was destroyed the instant Menulis' magic hit it, and the impact sent a massive shockwave through Galbatorix's body, making him shudder violently all over, as if he had just been struck by a falling tree.

But he was not done yet. He hurled his own magic back, hitting Nyx in the forelegs and injuring her, and then Shruikan leapt into the air, Galbatorix on his back, his hair caught and tugged by the rising wind as he screamed the battlecry that he would continue to use for the rest of his life. _'LAELA!'_

No thought. No hesitation. Only rage, and hatred, and bloodlust.

Shruikan balanced himself in the air, then slammed his wings back against the wind, thrusting himself forward in a screaming, reckless charge, aimed straight at Nyx's chest.

The storm closed in.


	35. Fire and Snow

Chapter Thirty-Five

Fire and Snow

North. Go North.

The Forsworn flew as they had never flown before, the dark landscape rushing past below them, leaving the Beors behind as fast as they could. They had fled in a disorganised fashion, in ones and twos, and Tuomas had very nearly been left behind until Roland went back for him at the last minute. They fled separately, none of them knowing whether the others had got away or where they were.

Roland, lagging behind, was attacked in midair by another dragon – one he never saw in the light. There was a brief scuffle which ended when Keth struck her attacker a powerful blow to the face which blinded him and allowed the gold dragon to make her escape.

And now there was nothing for it but to fly, and fly they did. North. Fly North. That was the only order they had to follow, and they followed it.

But where in the North? And how far should they go? They didn't know, but the urge to escape drove them on, and they flew on for days, not stopping once, unable to see each other, each one frightened that he or she was the only survivor. But Galbatorix's last order had been to go North, so go North they would.

They passed over the forest of Du Weldenvarden and went beyond the mountains and on into a land where endless snowfields stretched in every direction.

North.

Roland and Keth kept going for a time, but eventually the gold dragon's exhaustion told and she landed among a stand of pine trees. Roland managed to undo the leg-straps, and then toppled off Keth's back, landing on his back in the snow. Tuomas, still seated, looked down at him. 'Are you all right, sir?'

After a few moments, the reply drifted back. 'My spine appears to have been replaced with a metal rod, but other than that I'm fine. How about you?'

'I don't think I've got any bum left at all,' said Tuomas. 'Also, I don't think I can get down from here.'

Roland groaned. 'Just let me finish dying down here and I'll be with you in a jiffy.'

Eventually, grumbling and wincing at the pain in his back, the senior rider got up and came to help Tuomas down from Keth's back. She had already slumped down on her stomach and was lying quite still, panting and trembling with exhaustion. Tuomas' legs gave way as soon as he touched the ground, and he sat down sharply and tried to rub some life back into them while Roland went to see to his partner, scratching the ridge of tough scale over her eye with his rough fingernails and murmuring to her.

Keth sighed deeply and fell into a doze, and Roland walked about among the trees, rubbing his back and peering up at the sky for any sign of other dragons.

'Think we'll be safe here for a while,' he said eventually. 'But damned if I know where the others are. We'll just have to hope they got away…'

Some of the feeling returned to Tuomas' legs, and he got up and walked unsteadily to his elder's side, looking up at the sky along with him. There was nothing up there. 'What are we going to do, sir?' he asked, sounding slightly panicky. 'I can't feel Ithír. She's too far away. What if something's happened to her?'

'There, there,' Roland patted him on the shoulder. 'Calm down, lad. Listen, if anything had happened to Ithír, you'd know it. If you feel nothing, that's good. If she was in pain, if she was hurt… you'd be able to feel it. Don't worry about her; she'll catch up to us. A dragon can always find her rider. Trust me on this.'

'But what if she's dead?' said Tuomas. 'What if they got her?'

Roland laughed despite himself. 'Tuomas, if she was dead, there is no way you wouldn't be aware of it. You heard what Lord Galbatorix said, didn't you? I saw her fly away with Sartago. She'll be fine.'

'What about the others?' said Tuomas, calming down slightly. 'I saw Morzan fly off with Kaelyn, and I think I saw Tranah, but-,'

'I definitely saw Strein take Gern,' said Roland. 'Other than that…'

'What about Galbatorix?' said Tuomas. 'Did you see him?'

'No. But I'm sure he's fine.' Roland looked around at the icy landscape. 'I can see why he wanted us to go North. Man'd have to be crazy to come here.'

Tuomas shivered. 'It's so _cold._ What do we do now?'

'Well, I suggest we rest a bit and then have a look around and see what we can see,' said Roland.

They rested for a time, taking turns to nap against Keth's warm flank, and afterwards they ate some travel rations from Roland's bag. Revived, they set out to survey the area. Roland reluctantly woke up Keth and flew up with her to circle overhead and watch out for signs of other dragons. Tuomas settled for climbing a tree. But he got quite a good view from its upper branches.

There was nothing visible for miles but snow, rock and scattered pine forests. The air was full of the scent of ice and pine needles, and the sky overhead was a strange iron-grey colour that reminded him of Kaelyn's dragon Sartago. He looked up and saw Keth begin to descend, and climbed down from the tree to meet Roland.

'I've found someone!' Roland exclaimed as soon as he was within earshot. 'Eastwards a bit – I think it's Morzan. Quick, hop up and we'll go meet him.'

Keth crouched, and Roland hauled Tuomas up into the saddle with a single heave of his powerful arms. Once he was settled, they flew off, moving a little more slowly now, but confidently. There was another patch of forest in a small valley to the East, and as soon as they were overhead Tuomas could clearly see another dragon down there – a red one. And, as they came down to land, he suddenly realised that he could feel Ithír's presence in his mind again.

Keth landed close to Idün, and Roland and Tuomas dismounted and ran to meet up with Morzan, who was standing by a fire he'd lit in the snow, with Kaelyn beside him.

Kaelyn and Tuomas embraced fiercely, and Ithír joined them, nuzzling Tuomas' shoulder and draping a wing over him, her mind radiating relief. Tuomas hugged the yellow dragon, full of fierce love for her. 'Thank gods,' he said, again and again. 'Thank gods.'

Roland and Morzan thumped each other affectionately. 'Good to see you again, mate,' said Morzan. 'You scared me for a moment there. Thought someone was attacking us.'

'Come on now, lad, don't be silly,' said Roland. 'There can't be anyone around here for miles except for us. I hope.'

'I saw some urgal villages back South,' said Morzan. 'Kaelyn'n me've been here a day an' a bit. Haven't seen anyone else. Where are they, d'you know?'

'Strein's got Gern,' said Roland. 'And I see you've got the hatchlings with you, which is a relief. That leaves everyone accounted for except Tranah and Galbatorix.'

'Tranah and I were flyin' pretty close for a while,' said Morzan. 'But she fell behind. I dunno where she is now, but she got out of Orthíad all right. But Galbatorix… all I know is he was outside when they came. Kaelyn says-,'

'He stayed behind,' said Kaelyn. 'He sent me in to tell you to go, but he didn't go himself. He stayed.'

Roland swore. 'What? Was he out of his mind?'

'I don't know,' said Kaelyn. She was quivering with fright. 'I don't know where Shruikan is either. Roland, what're we going to do?'

'Chin up, lass,' said Roland. 'We'll find the others soon enough. They'll be around this peaksforsaken place somewhere. And I'm sure Lord Galbatorix knew what he was doing. He'll come and find us, sure enough. But we'd better move somewhere a little more sheltered, assuming there _is_ such a place out here.'

Morzan nodded. 'It's bloody _freezing_ here at night. I had to stay up an' keep the fire goin' or we would've died in our sleep.'

They put out the fire and remounted their dragons, wearily and reluctantly, and flew off, keeping close together. For about an hour they flew over the Icelands, looking for any sign of life, but they saw nothing except for scattered herds of white deer and once a pack of wolves. Hope started to fade as the sun began to go down, but then Sartago, flying ahead, suddenly let out a roar.

A few moments later it was answered, faintly, from somewhere up ahead. Idün and Keth roared too, their voices mingling, and again there was an answer. The two dragons lowered their heads and flew straight toward it, following the roars.

They found the source not long later. Ahead, a large mountain rose out of the snowfield, and halfway up it a large brown dragon was perched.

'It's Talziri!' Tuomas shouted, his voice nearly lost in the wind.

They met up with Strein at the base of the mountain. She had made a small camp among some rocks where it was a little sheltered, and Gern was with her. The reunion was a little subdued, but joyful all the same, and almost instantly they were asking questions.

'Where's Tranah?' Strein asked. 'Is she all right?'

'She got away from Orthíad fine,' said Morzan. 'She should be somewhere North right now – we just don't know where.'

'I looked for her,' said Strein. 'Gern and I haven't stopped moving since we got here two days ago. But we never saw anything.'

'Not surprising,' said Roland. 'There's precious little to see out here. But it's good to know you're all right, Strein.'

'What about Galbatorix?' said Strein. 'Did he get out of Orthíad?'

'We don't know,' said Roland. 'Kaelyn says he stayed behind.'

'Surely he didn't try and fight them on his own?' Strein said anxiously.

'I doubt it,' said Roland.

Morzan shook his head. 'You don't know the man like I do. He's completely mental. Throws himself at his enemies like he's made outa metal. But somehow he gets out alive every time. Beats me how he does it, but he fights like no-one I've ever met.'

'Well,' said Roland, sounding a little nervous. 'Then I'm sure we've got nothing to worry about. We'll stay here tonight, and then we'll look for him and Tranah in the morning.'

'Who died and made _you_ King?' Morzan complained.

Roland sniffed. 'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. I was only making a suggestion.'

'Well don't forget you've bin with us a week,' said Morzan. 'You didn't ought to be givin' us orders now. Or ever.'

'Morzan, stop that,' said Strein. 'Leave off, he's only trying to help.'

Morzan hesitated, obviously not wanting to back down out of pride. 'Whatever,' he muttered, and stalked off.

Roland pretended not to notice. 'Sorry to be a bother,' he said.

'Don't take any notice,' Strein advised, keeping her voice low. 'It's been a little trying lately. I'm sure you can understand.'

'I think I'll survive,' said Roland. 'Now… let's get some rest. At least, _I'll_ get some rest and you can make up your own minds, how does that sound?'

Strein grinned. 'Sounds fine to me.'

They spent that night at Strein's camp, but slept fitfully, keeping close to their dragons and to the fire for warmth, each one too nervous to sleep more deeply lest they die of the cold before they woke up. It meant that, on the following morning, everyone was tired and irritable. When Roland again tried to take charge, Morzan, who by now was looking very worn and strung out, was sulky and uncooperative and refused to listen to him. Roland was patient at first, but eventually his own stress told and the two men had a vicious shouted argument which very nearly came to blows and only ended when Strein and the three apprentices interfered – something which took considerable courage, since Morzan was a very big man indeed, with a square, muscular frame and thick arms, and Roland, in spite of his age, was very close to matching him in size.

Afterwards Roland was contrite, but Morzan refused to make peace with him. He rudely rebuffed Strein's attempts to make him apologise, even after Roland had already done so, and the affair ended with everyone leaving the camp in a temper. Strein, who stayed behind to watch the fire, realised that Roland had been right when he had said that losing Galbatorix would be a disaster. Without him there, the Forsworn had no unity and no sense of purpose or direction. Morzan wouldn't work for anyone else but was too stubborn and unimaginative to be a leader in his own right, and while Strein was prepared to listen to Roland or Tranah – assuming they found her – she could see that their group would soon be in meltdown. The trouble was that all of them were strong-willed, and all of them were leaders in a way. They were not the kind of people who would subordinate themselves to just anybody, and only Galbatorix had the charisma and the willpower to make them work together in harmony. Without him there to bring balance, it had turned into a battle of wills between Morzan and Roland, and if Tranah rejoined them at some stage she would probably clash with both of them.

Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas were also depressed, but more at the possibility that they had lost their master. All of them had come to care about him; Tuomas and Gern both saw him almost as a father-figure, and Kaelyn could not forget their moment of stolen intimacy, nor stop feeling that what had happened was in some way her fault.

In the end nothing decisive happened that day. What remained of the Forsworn spent it either arguing or mooching around the camp with no particular aim in mind. Kaelyn suggested to Gern and Tuomas that they practise some swordplay, which they did, taking turns to spar with each other. Strein watched them for a while and then joined in, and a kind of impromptu training session took place while a watery sunset began to appear on the horizon.

Roland and Morzan both returned to the camp before dark. Roland was tired and depressed, and began to prepare a frugal meal without saying anything. Morzan, however, evidently hadn't lost his resentfulness.

'What're we gonna do?' he asked aggressively of no-one in particular.

No-one answered.

'I said, what're we gonna do?' Morzan repeated. 'We can't sit around here on our arses all day, we gotta do something.'

'We need to find the others,' said Strein, when Roland remained silent. 'But we should be systematic about it… if we just flew off in any old direction we'd lose each other. What do you suggest, Morzan?'

The question was asked politely, but Morzan only muttered something and stared at the fire.

Roland had finished preparing the food, and wordlessly doled it out to his fellows. Morzan accepted the stale bread and salted beef with a disgusted expression. 'What? Is this crap all we're getting?'

'I'm afraid so,' said Roland, finally breaking his silence. 'It's all we've got left.'

Morzan ate, muttering darkly to himself. A sharp piece of crust jabbed him sharply in the gum, and he swore and hurled it into the fire. 'That's _it!_' he almost shouted, standing up abruptly. 'I've had enough of this, I'm out of here.' He strode off toward Idün, who came to him at once.

Strein ran to him. 'Morzan, what are you doing?'

'I'm leaving,' said Morzan. 'I'm going to go find them myself.'

'Morzan, don't!' said Strein, grabbing his arm and trying to restrain him. 'It's nearly dark; you'll get lost-,'

She may as well have tried to push over a brick wall. Morzan shook her off without any apparent effort, and climbed into the saddle.

'Roland, for the love of gods, help me!' Strein yelled.

Roland ran to her side. 'Morzan, stop! You're acting like a fool.'

Morzan sneered at him. 'You stay here an' clean out your lugholes, granddad. I'm not hanging around here for another minute. I'm gonna find Galbatorix myself, and when I bring him back here he'll sort this mess out. So don't get too comfy, 'cause you ain't gonna be playin' at bein' the leader for long. There's only one master for me, and I'm gonna find him.'

Idün turned and walked away over the snow. Strein and Roland ran after her, the three apprentices trailing behind. 'Morzan, stop! Come back!' Roland yelled.

It did absolutely no good. Idün took off with a flick of her scarlet wings, and moments later she and Morzan were gone.

Roland and Strein wandered resignedly back to the fire. 'Should we go after him?' Strein asked.

'What's the point?' said Roland. 'In the mood he's in I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to attack us, stubborn young fool that he is.'

'But what if he gets lost?' said Strein. 'There's no food out here; he wouldn't last a day.'

Roland sighed. 'I don't know, Strein. Perhaps we _should_ go after him…'

'Why don't we set up a signal for him or something?' Gern put in unexpectedly. 'You know, a beacon. We could put it up there on the mountaintop; he'd be able to see it from anywhere.'

'That's a good idea,' said Roland. 'But dangerous. Bear in mind that if Morzan can see it, other people can too. And they might not be friendly.'

'I think if anyone had followed us North, we'd know it,' said Strein. 'Did anyone chase you out of Orthíad?'

'For a very short distance,' said Roland. 'It was dark and there was a lot of wind; you could hardly see a damned thing in all that, excuse my language. But no sign of pursuit after we left the Beors. We had a short run-in with someone right on the outskirts, but we shook 'em off and put plenty of distance between them and us. As far as I know, no-one saw us for a good long time.'

'Same here,' said Strein. 'And Morzan definitely said he wasn't chased. I think we should take the risk.'

'If need be, we can run again,' said Roland. 'Yes. I agree. If you don't mind, I'll make the beacon. I have an idea as to what it should look like. Something our friends will recognise instantly. Kaelyn, Gern, Tuomas, if you would like to accompany me you'd be more than welcome. You may find the experience instructive.'

Gern nodded. 'I'll come, definitely.'

'Me too,' said Tuomas.

'And me,' said Kaelyn.

'Then it's settled,' said Roland. 'Let's go.' He strode off toward the mountain's foot.

The three apprentices jogged to keep up with him.

'Uh, sir?' Gern ventured. 'What are you doing? Shouldn't Keth be carrying us up there?'

'Good heavens no,' said Roland, halting at the foot of the mountain. 'We're going to climb it ourselves.'

'What?' said Tuomas. 'What the hell for?'

'Watch your language, young man,' said Roland. He was already beginning the climb, leaning forward against the slope and occasionally taking hold of the rock to steady himself. The three apprentices followed reluctantly, still asking for an explanation. 'It's simple,' said Roland. 'In my religion, mountains are an important symbol – the Three Peaks the most so, but all mountains have a special significance to us.' He paused to haul himself up over a heap of rocks, and resumed, paying no attention to the three struggling teenagers. 'You see, a mountain is a symbol for life. Every life involves some struggle – just like climbing a mountain does. Sometimes it feels like you'll never get there, sometimes you just want to stop and go back, and you wonder if it'll all be worthwhile in the end. But if you persevere, if you keep going and never lose faith, in the end you'll reach the peak, and from there all will become clear to you, and you will see Paradise laid out before you, just waiting for you to go to it.'

He continued to climb steadily and with confidence, and Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas tried their best to keep up with him. But it wasn't easy. Loose rocks and patches of slippery snow threatened to dislodge them at every turn, and the slope was steep and unforgiving. They dug their hands and feet into the ground, constantly terrified of falling, straining every muscle. Before long they were all exhausted and sweating in spite of the cold, and when they looked up they realised they had barely gone any distance at all.

Roland glanced back at them, sighed, and sat down on a small outcrop to let them catch up, which they did eventually. As soon as they reached him they slumped down to rest.

'I – can't – do this!' Gern gasped. 'All the muscles in my legs are on fire, I'm sure of it.'

'Now then, don't lose faith, my young apprentices,' said Roland in an almost offensively cheerful voice. 'What can you ever achieve by giving up?'

Tuomas looked up at the rest of the mountain that still loomed over them. 'Are you mad?' he complained. 'I can't climb that!'

'On the contrary,' said Roland. 'You can and you will. It isn't that hard, you know.'

'But I'm exhausted!' said Tuomas.

Kaelyn sat down with her back to the rock and closed her eyes. 'I'm going to wait here for you,' she said. 'Just keep going; I'll be fine.'

'Exhausted?' said Roland. 'Leave you here? By the Peaks, you three are shocking. You aren't exhausted, not at all. Why, you've barely gone any distance at all. You're fooling yourselves if you think you can't go on.'

'You're stronger than us,' said Gern.

'Stuff and nonsense,' said Roland. 'I'm an old man, for heaven's sake, I've got bad knees and a wheeze. You're young and strong, you've got more energy in you now than you'll ever have again in your lives. And you're not tired, and this isn't as hard as you're telling yourselves. No, the real struggle is in your minds. If you tell yourself you can't do it, then you can't. Now tell yourselves you _can_ do it, and bigods we'll be at the peak looking at the stars before you know what's going on.' He stood up. 'Now let's go, before it gets too dark.'

Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas struggled to their feet and continued the climb, moaning and complaining all the while. Roland paid no attention. He kept going steadily, calling out encouragement and warning of difficult patches ahead all the while. The sun finished setting and the stars were coming out by the time they reached the half-way point, and there they stopped to rest again.

Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas were filthy and aching by this time; all of them had fallen over at least once and were sporting cuts, bruises and grazes, their boots and trousers were soaked from having to wade through several snowdrifts, and they had collected a fine set of unpleasant itchy bites from midges and other blood-sucking insects. But they weren't complaining any more. They didn't have the breath for it.

'There you go!' said Roland, who wasn't looking the least bit tired. 'Well done! We're halfway there already.'

Gern and Kaelyn groaned. Tuomas, however, said; 'I think I can do it, sir. I can keep on going.'

'Wonderful!' said Roland. 'See what I told you? Now, we're going to need the help of some magic here…' he muttered a few words, and golden light appeared around him, shining brighter than a torch and nicely illuminating the whole area. 'That's better. Now, have you three been coached in how to heal by magic? If so, now's an excellent chance to practise – deal with those scrapes while we're resting, why don't you?'

Kaelyn remembered the words. She spread her hand over a graze on her knee and opened the mental channel, paused, sighed, and said the words. 'Waíse heill.'

The graze healed over with scarcely a pause, and Kaelyn smiled triumphantly. She thought of Galbatorix and tried to imagine what he would say if he were there. _Well done, Kaelyn. I'm proud of you. _That cheered her up. 'I _know_ you're all right, Master,' she half-murmured. 'You'll come and find us again.'

Gern and Tuomas attended to their own injuries, and once they had caught their breath Roland got up and resumed the climb.

Now that they knew they were nearly there, the three apprentices found a little more confidence and pressed on determinedly. Roland, noticing this, smiled to himself.

And, at long last, they reached the peak. Roland, of course, reached it first, and by the time Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas had caught up with him they found him kneeling at the mountain's highest point, still surrounded by gold light, muttering under his breath. They sat down a short distance away and watched him.

Roland touched his forehead to the ground, then raised himself once more and clasped his hands in front of his chest, eyes closed reverentially as he continued to mutter in the ancient language. When he was finished, he struck his chest with his fist, three times, then opened his eyes and stood up. He sighed deeply and stretched as if he had just woken up, then dusted himself down and looked around at the three apprentices.

'Were you praying just now, sir?' Gern asked.

Roland nodded. 'Offering up a prayer to the Three Peaks, thanking them for keeping me safe and entreating them to watch over my friends.'

'Will it work?' Tuomas said innocently.

'The power of the Three Peaks is in all of us,' Roland said solemnly. 'It will work, if we have faith. So…' he smiled with his eyes. 'You made it to the peak, just as I said you would. Now look on Paradise and tell me if it was worth it.'

They got up to survey the view, and Roland silently let the magical light go out, leaving them in total darkness.

'Hey!' said Tuomas. 'Why'd you do that? I can't see anything!'

'Are you sure?' Roland asked from somewhere in the gloom. 'Look again.'

They did, and as their eyes adjusted to the darkness Kaelyn let out a cry of wonder. 'Oh my gods… it's beautiful!'

'Now look on Paradise,' Roland murmured.

It was like standing in the stars. The ground below them was utterly dark, invisible, as if it were not there at all, and wherever they looked they saw a thousand glittering stars, like a field of silver crystals scattered throughout the heavens. And, rising through it all in total silence was the great white presence of the moon. A half-moon, shaped like a dragon's eye.

'The half-moon,' Kaelyn half-whispered. 'Destiny…'

'Now look at that,' said Roland. 'And you try and tell me there is no hope and that the gods are a lie. No. That's not something I could ever make myself believe, and not even the elders themselves could ever stop me.'

'I think I understand, sir,' said Gern.

'I hope you do,' said Roland. 'Even if you never choose to believe in a god as I do. Hope, you see, is something that takes many forms. Sometimes it is the form of a god. Sometimes it is something as pure as love, or as dark as hatred. But hope is something we must never let go of, no matter how far we come or how difficult our lives are. We must always hold onto hope.'

They stood there in silence for a long time, feeling as if time had stood still while the stars drifted overhead on their endless courses, weaving the fates of gods and men alike. But the moment did not last forever. Finally Roland sighed and said; 'Well, we'd better set up this beacon.' He recast the light spell, bringing back the golden glow around himself and breaking the strange spell. Then he began wandering around the spot where they were standing, muttering to himself and examining the ground, evidently choosing a good spot. At last, apparently satisfied, he stopped and said; 'Very well, I think this will do.' He rolled up his sleeves. 'You will observe – nothing up my sleeves-,' he grinned and then became serious. 'Now. Listen carefully to the spell; you may decide to use it yourselves some day.' He cleared his throat and spread his left hand over the ground, then recited the words, loudly and clearly. '_Skapa aldrnari sem vili œva létta brenna_.'

In moments a fire appeared, burning slightly above the ground. It was bright gold, and rose higher and higher as Roland lifted his hand, controlling it. It grew until it was as tall as he was; a narrow tongue of flickering light that gave off no heat at all. Once Roland was satisfied he took two paces to the right and made a second fire, but only raising it to half the height of the first, then made a third one of the same height on the other side.

'There!' he said when he was done, pulling his sleeves back down over his forearms and stepping back to admire his handiwork. 'What d'you think?'

The three fires were evenly spaced in a row, each one burning steadily and giving off no smoke. The one in the centre was the tallest and brightest, with a core of orange at its heart, and the three fires lit up the entire mountaintop.

Kaelyn squinted a little. 'It's perfect, sir. People will be able to see it for miles.'

'But it's better than that,' said Roland. 'Do any of you know what these fires represent?'

The three apprentices glanced at each other, not understanding.

'Come on,' said Roland, sounding a little disappointed. 'Surely you can guess. Count them. How many are there?'

'Uh… three?' said Gern.

'Exactly!' said Roland, as if he had just solved a complex problem. 'Three fires.'

'I know!' said Tuomas. 'They're the Three Peaks, aren't they? I saw them once.'

Roland nodded. 'That's right,' he said triumphantly. 'Three fires, three peaks, the tallest one in the centre. It's the symbol of my faith. If Galbatorix or Tranah sees this, they'll recognise it right away and know it was me. That way they'll know it isn't a trap.'

'That's very clever, sir,' said Gern.

Roland beamed. 'Yes, it was rather cunning of me, wasn't it? I'm quite pleased with it myself. And now…' he looked down at the ground far below them. 'I suppose we should be climbing back down about now.'

'Oh _no,'_ said Tuomas.

Roland grinned at him. 'What's the matter? Climbing down is always much easier than climbing up.'

'It definitely is if you fall to your death,' said Tuomas.

Roland sighed. 'Well, I suppose you've probably had enough for one night, considering what an unpleasant few days we've had. All right. We'll wait here and Keth will help us down.'

They settled down to wait, much relieved, and not long later Keth landed by them, so large she only just fitted on the mountaintop. But she quite casually stood with her foreclaw through the middle of Roland's beacon, obviously unharmed since it gave off no heat.

Roland ambled over to her and slapped her on the shoulder. 'Steady on, you big brute, you're crushing the blasted thing.'

Keth snickered and moved her paw away, and Roland and the three apprentices got onto her back. It was uncomfortable with four of them, but Keth took off and reached the base of the mountain in a short time and they got down and gratefully returned to the camp. Strein was waiting for them there by the fire, and looked up cheerfully at them. 'Hello, welcome back. How was the view?'

'Excellent, thankyou, Strein,' said Roland. 'And the view will have improved for any of our friends who are in the vicinity as well.'

They looked up at the mountain. The beacon was still burning brightly, and even from this distance they could distinctly make out the three pointed shapes. The mountain, however, looked even bigger in the dark.

'Good gods, did we really climb that?' said Gern.

'I'm afraid so,' said Roland, chuckling. 'But it was worth it.'

'Definitely,' said Kaelyn.

'It's perfect,' said Strein, meaning the beacon. 'Good idea, Roland. That'll bring Morzan back here, sure as fate.'

But Morzan did not return that night, and nor did he come back on the day that followed it. When they woke that morning the beacon was still lit, visible even in daylight, and Roland assured them that it would stay lit more or less forever. 'Used up a good chunk of my energy, but it was worth it,' he said. 'And now all we can do is wait and hope.'

And wait they did, for the next three days.

Food quickly became a major concern. The dragons went to hunt for whatever game they could find, and brought back the carcasses of a pair of white deer. The animals were thin and their meat was stringy, but they were enough to sustain them for a time. Roland insisted that they use every part of them, including the organs, much to the disgust of his companions. 'It looks nasty, but there isn't much choice,' he told them. 'Besides which, you can't live on meat alone, and a deer's liver has properties that are good for your health. Just hold your nose and eat it is my advice.'

They supplemented it with some edible lichen that Strein found, and drank melted snow when the water ran out. It was enough to get by on, but it wouldn't last. Sooner or later they would have to leave. But where they would go they had no idea.

Kaelyn and Tuomas sat together by the fire on the morning of the third day, practising the spell that would create light. Roland was dozing with his back to a rock, Strein was stitching up a hole in her tunic, and Gern had gone for a stroll. Sartago, Ithír and Leahdorus were perched on the mountaintop around the beacon, keeping watch.

It was a little warmer today, and patches of blue were showing here and there through the clouds. Roland had dryly speculated if this meant it was spring, but the idea that it could ever be warm here was frankly preposterous. Most of them had come to dislike the North, but Kaelyn found a kind of beauty about it, harsh though it was. So this was where Galbatorix's people had come from. Somewhere out here his dragon had died. Somewhere amid this icy wilderness, he had stepped over the line from ordinary rider to the Great Betrayer. Or had been pushed.

Kaelyn made another attempt at summoning up light. It worked once again, and she concentrated on making it brighter. For a while it worked, but something distracted her and the spell broke. She muttered irritably and looked up in time to see Gern return to the camp. He was moving quickly but quietly, and as she watched he went to Strein and crouched by her, muttering something in her ear. Strein got up sharply, looking up at the sky, and then hurried over to Roland, shaking him awake.

Kaelyn stood up, her heart beating faster. 'What is it?' she said.

Tuomas had noticed what was going on. 'What's up?' he said, ignoring the yellow glow around his hands.

Roland woke up, and Strein pointed at the sky. 'Look,' she told him quietly.

Roland did not miss the urgency in her voice. He stood up, peering at the clouds. Kaelyn went to Gern. 'What's going on?' she demanded. 'What are they looking at?' She followed their gazes but couldn't see anything.

'Someone's coming,' said Gern. 'Leahdorus saw them.'

Kaelyn's heart skipped a beat. She reached out for Sartago with her mind. _'Sartago? What's going on?'_

'_Someone's coming,'_ the grey dragon answered. _'Dragons.'_

'_Dragons?'_ Kaelyn repeated, fear gripping her around the throat. _'Which ones? How many? Is it Morzan?'_

'_I don't know,'_ said Sartago. _'There's three of them… too far away to tell what colour they are.'_

The others had been informed of what was going on. 'What are we going to do?' Gern exclaimed. 'Should we run?'

'No,' Strein said harshly. 'Don't panic, Gern. Stay calm. We don't know if this is an attack.'

'We need to ascertain who they are,' said Roland. 'And until we know that, we must assume this is an attack. Kaelyn, Gern, Tuomas, call your dragons back, double time. Strein, we'd better prepare to fight. In fact, all of us had better prepare.' Keth came to him, and he picked up his sword and got onto her back. 'All right,' he said. 'Keth and I will go to the top of the mountain. We can attack them in the air from there if we have to. Strein, you take care of the kids.'

'"Kids"?' Tuomas repeated indignantly.

'You heard him,' said Strein. 'Stay close to me and do as I tell you, understood?'

'I understand,' said Kaelyn. She drew her sword and stood close to Strein's side, and Gern and Tuomas joined her. Moments later Sartago, Ithír and Leahdorus arrived, and Roland wished them good luck and departed. Keth alighted on the mountain's top and settled down there to wait.

On the ground, Talziri stood himself behind Strein, protecting her with his large brown wings. Strein drew her own sword. 'All right,' she said. 'If they attack us, get to shelter. Stay among the trees or the rocks; don't go out in the open. If the worst happens, don't try and run – you won't get far. Just find somewhere to hide and lay low until it's safe. If you have to, bury yourselves in the snow. Understood?'

'We get it,' Gern said gloomily. 'Run, hide, keep safe, be kids.'

'That's enough,' said Strein, uncharacteristically sharp. 'You're not fully trained, and until then you'll do as I tell you. Galbatorix entrusted you to me, and I consider it my duty to protect you. If you don't do as you're commanded, I'll consider that betraying both me and him. Understand?'

'I understand,' said Kaelyn, gripping her sword. 'But if I can't get away, I'll fight.'

Strein nodded. 'Yes. If there's no other option, fight.'

They waited there by the fire, poised for action. If the trees had been thicker they might have tried to hide themselves among them, but there was little point in that – Talziri was simply too large.

The time dragged out and nothing happened. But they were soon able to see the oncoming dragons from the ground. There were indeed three, not too far apart in size, and all of them looked dark from this distance.

When they were close enough, Keth suddenly roared from the mountaintop. The noise echoed off the mountain, carrying far over the snowfield. A few moments later, the foremost of the three oncoming dragons roared back.

Strein looked mortified. 'What the hell are they playing at?' she muttered. 'Just tell them exactly where we are, why don't you?'

Keth and the strange dragon exchanged a further series of roars, and still the intruders drew closer and closer. And then, at long last, when they were close enough, Kaelyn saw the one in front clearly and realised that it was black with white wings.

'It's Shruikan!' she yelled.

Strein lowered her sword. 'Oh my gods – Shruikan! I _knew_ I recognised that roar!'

They grinned and sheathed their swords, relaxing and spreading out ready to meet Shruikan.

As the black dragon descended, they could see it was him. And Galbatorix was sitting on his back.

Shruikan landed with a thump at the edge of the camp, sending up a shower of snow. Galbatorix grinned at them from his back. 'Sorry I'm late! I've been taking care of some things.'

They ran to meet him, all their apprehension utterly gone. Galbatorix undid the straps holding his legs in place and fell sideways off Shruikan's back, landing with a thump and a stream of dark elvish swearwords. Strein and Tuomas helped him up, and he stood, shaking the snow off his robe. 'Damn! Hello, Kaelyn.'

Kaelyn ran to him and hugged him. 'I _knew_ you were all right!' she cried. 'I knew it.'

Galbatorix patted her a little awkwardly. 'I was hoping for it too. It's good to see you, Kaelyn. And you, Strein, and you Gern, and you, Tuomas. But where's Morzan? And Tranah?'

Roland rejoined them at this moment, at about the same time as the other two dragons that had accompanied Shruikan landed not far away. One of them was about Shruikan's size and had rough, wheat-coloured scales. The other was an exquisite shade of apple-green with sky-blue eyes. The two riders dismounted and came forward, a little hesitantly, taking their places on either side of Galbatorix, as if they were his bodyguards.

Roland looked at one of them, and gasped. 'Oh my gods – it's you!'

The rider, a woman with flame-red hair, started. 'Roland!' she ran to meet him, and the two of them embraced.

'Galbatorix, where the hell have you been?' Strein said bemusedly. 'And who are these people?'

'The two newest members of the Forsworn, of course,' said Galbatorix. 'Strein, Gern, Tuomas, Kaelyn, meet Orwynee. As you can see, she's already met Roland.'

Orwyne, the red-haired woman, turned toward them, grinning. 'Of course I do,' she said, coming toward them and politely extending a hand. 'Orwyne Redwyn, of Dras-Leona. I'm honoured to meet you.'

Strein shook her hand. 'The honour is all mine. How do you know Roland?'

'He was my master a long time ago,' said Orwyne. 'He taught me everything I know. Eh, Roland?'

'Well,' said Roland. 'I may have passed on a thing or two, you know, every now and then. I won't say I didn't enjoy it.'

Orwyne nudged him in the ribs. 'Same as always, eh? I can't say I could ever imagine you running off to become a rebel, but it just goes to show you still know how to surprise me.'

'Indeed,' said Roland. He turned his gaze on the second rider, who had watched all this in silence. 'Now then, young man… may I ask your name?'

The second rider was small and thin, but wiry. His skin was a rich shade of brown, and he had fine black hair and dark eyes. He looked a little uncertain, but he was polite enough when he said; 'My name is Vander. Vander of… Hadarac.'

'You're a desert person?' said Roland, surprised. 'Well I never.'

'It wasn't always a desert,' said Galbatorix. 'Shall we get settled and begin with the explanations? I've a feeling there's some stories to be told.'

'Just as you say, sir,' said Roland.


	36. King of the North

Chapter Thirty-Six

King of the North

Brom stood in the centre of the circle of elders, head bowed. Saphira was with him, crouched low to the ground, and both man and dragon waited in silence.

At last Vrael spoke. 'Report.'

Brom paused, gathering his thoughts. 'I truly am sorry, Lord Vrael,' he said. 'I did what I could.'

'Be calm, Brom,' said Saraswati, her voice warm. 'You did well. You're not on trial here.'

That gave Brom some courage. 'I did as you asked, my Lords and Lady,' he said. 'I went with the heretic and we laid low at Orthíad for a week or so. His idea. But it was the right thing to do – he came and found us there in the end. That was a month after the massacre at Gil'ead.'

'How did he respond to you?' Oromis asked. 'What was his reaction?'

Brom hesitated. 'He was… very pleased to see me. He remembered who I was and still counted me as a friend; he was friendly and affectionate, and he trusted me right away. He didn't ask me to tell him I was on his side in the ancient language, although he did get the heretic to do it.'

Oromis chuckled darkly. 'You see?' he said, addressing Vrael. 'Just as I predicted. The bonds of friendship go deep.'

'Go on,' Vrael urged Brom. 'What happened then?'

'He had one of the three traitors from Gil'ead with him,' said Brom. 'The girl, Kaelyn. She and her two friends have become his apprentices. I saw him with them, teaching them swordplay and magic.'

The elders muttered angrily. 'So now he is seeking to corrupt the minds of the young,' said Oromis. 'Is there no end to his depavity? Tell me; what were his relations with them like? Did they appear willing to obey him?'

'Oh yes, very much so,' said Brom, nodding. 'They are fiercely loyal to him; the girl even threatened us when she thought we were going to attack him. She showed no fear of us. She and her friends treat the half-breed almost like a father. He never had to raise his voice at all; they listened to whatever he said and obeyed his every command.'

'What is he like now?' Vrael asked. 'How did he behave? Is the madness as bad as we suspected?'

Brom shook his head. 'No, my Lord,' he said. 'It's worse. Far worse than we thought.'

'Did he seem depressed?' said Vrael. 'Do you think it likely that he could take his own life?'

'I doubt it, my Lord,' said Brom. 'No… to be honest, I was astonished by how _rational_ he was. I expected something – some outward sign of his insanity, but there was nothing. He's calm and balanced, he speaks clearly and sensibly, almost never shouts or shows any sign of anger. In fact, he seemed almost completely harmless. But it didn't take me long to see what was wrong with him. His delusions are very deep-seated – so much so that he talked about them so compellingly that they almost sounded like they were true. The others certainly believed it – every word of it. Completely taken in.'

'What delusions are these?' said Vrael. 'Describe them.'

'Well, he honestly believes that he is innocent of raping Flell, and that she betrayed him and lied to you – and that she somehow managed to take you in in spite of the fact that you would of course have made her use the ancient language. He has incredible paranoid delusions – he believes that you – meaning the council of elders – conspired to destroy him and sent other riders after him to murder him and his dragon. He is absolutely convinced that it was you who killed his dragon, and that he has no option but to kill you all, along with anyone and everyone who tries to stop him.'

'That's outrageous!' Yansan exclaimed. 'How could he-?'

'The worst of it is,' said Brom, daring to cut across him, 'That the way he talks about it is so convincing that it almost made _me_ believe it. He believes it so much that he can repeat it in the ancient language without any effort. And I have to admit that it's a very powerful story. Powerful enough to draw in many, many people. Even other riders… but we already know that.'

The elders glanced at each other, inscrutable.

'How is he as a leader?' said Vrael. 'How are they organised?'

'Like nothing I've ever seen,' said Brom. 'If I may speak frankly… I have never, ever seen a leader as inspiring as the half-breed is. The way he speaks, the way he looks at you, even the way he moves… everything about him has an aura of absolute confidence and certainty. When you look at him, you have a strange feeling that nothing can ever stop him or hurt him. As if he's invincible. He has a way of talking to you as if he could see inside you and know exactly what you were thinking before you thought it. He can always find something about you that can give him power over you… your fears, your hopes, your memories. He appealed to my loyalty as a friend to both him and Morzan, and the speeches he gave, about what he means to do… they were frightening, but listening to them made you feel as invincible as he looked. As if you could do anything, and _would_ do it, and all for him.'

'It must be some vile dark elvish magic,' said Oromis. 'Nothing else could make riders of such long service and such great loyalty turn against their friends.'

'I doubt it, Master Oromis,' said Brom. 'It isn't magic; it's _him._ He's a born leader. Every one of those poor fools has some petty grudge against this council, but somehow he managed to take hold of those things and turn them into a terrible hatred and bloodlust. Not one of them would hesitate to kill for him, or die for him. I saw all that, and I knew I had to act, and fast. They were planning an attack on Vroengard. I told them you were there, Master Oromis, and they decided they would take Vroengard and kill you. They were going to use it as their fortress and come out of hiding – they believed they were ready to begin open war against you. The half-breed made a string of threats against every member of this council, and especially you, Lord Vrael. He has sworn to kill you with his own hands. He seems to believe that your murder would somehow "liberate" Alagaësia and undo all your supposed crimes… I helped them to plan the attack, but gathered information about their methods at the same time. In the end the half-breed announced it was time, and that they would leave to begin the attack on the following day. I confess… I tried to persuade him to stop this madness. As a friend. He listened to me, but refused to take my advice.'

'That was unwise,' said Oromis. 'You could have given yourself away.'

'Yes. I admit that. But he does listen to people. He takes suggestions from all of his followers, even the apprentices. He told me he had no choice but to fight you; that it was your fault and that you deserved what was happening. Anyway… the night before the attack was due to happen, I knew I had to act. I brought him some food and managed to slip the poison into it without being noticed. He was outside, away from the others. He goes off on his own sometimes, usually around moonrise. He says he likes watching the moon; it helps him think. I gave him the food and sat down to talk with him, and he ate it without suspecting anything. But unfortunately he ate only two spoonfuls, and slowly, so he realised he had been poisoned before he had taken a properly fatal dose.'

'Two spoonfuls should have been enough,' said Oromis.

Brom nodded. 'But he was too cunning for that. He forced himself to vomit it back up again, and before I could finish him off with my sword his followers caught me. I tried to fight my way out, but there were too many of them.'

'Then what happened?' said Vrael. 'How did you escape?'

'He let me go,' said Brom.

'What?' said Saraswati.

'It's true,' said Brom. 'They had me at their mercy, and their dragons had Saphira. Morzan gave the order to kill me, but the half-breed stopped them. He told them to let me go, and they did.'

'Why?' said Vrael, blinking. 'I don't understand. Why would he do that? Did he know you were the poisoner?'

'Yes,' said Brom. 'He told me he was letting me go for the sake of our friendship, but he said that if he ever saw me again he would kill me. So Saphira and I fled, and… well, my Lord, there's no need to say any more – you already know the rest.'

Vrael was silent, thinking it over. 'Well,' he said at length. 'By all accounts you did well, Brom, and you have my thanks for that. Even if you failed to kill the half-breed, you will have averted the attack on Vroengard, and perhaps the poison will have weakened him. Viper's Tears can have a lingering effect on its victims.'

Brom bowed. 'Thankyou, my Lord. Is there anything else I can do for you?'

'You may leave now,' said Vrael. 'A scribe will visit you later to take down a record of everything you witnessed. Rest awhile. We will summon you again when we need you.'

Brom bowed again and left.

Once he was well gone, Vrael and his fellow elders looked at each other with grim expressions.

'The situation grows worse, my friends,' Oromis said wisely.

'Worse?' Yansan exclaimed. 'Does it? Really? Thankyou for that insight, Lord Oromis.' He shook his head disgustedly and went on; 'It seems that we underestimated the half-breed. Until he begins attacking us in the open, finding him will be nigh-on impossible.'

'But there must be some way of getting to him,' said Saraswati. 'Something we haven't thought of yet.'

'There is,' said Vrael.

They looked at him expectantly.

'An old friend has proven that the half-breed has not lost his humanity,' said Vrael. 'He still retains some capacity to care for other people. So much so that he allowed Brom to return here with vital information for us instead of taking the more sensible route and killing him. He sacrificed a major tactical advantage simply out of misplaced affection for the boy. That tells us something important, something we can still use.'

'But what?' said Yansan. 'His family is dead. He has no other close friends that we're aware of… unless you're thinking of Flell?'

Vrael paused. 'The girl is useless,' he said. 'No more than a broken shell. She has nothing left for him that he could possibly want, unless that be revenge for her supposed crime against him.'

'If only the child had survived, we could have used it to lure him out of hiding,' said Oromis. 'Alas, that cannot happen. But tell me, Lord Vrael… what is your plan?'

'I don't know yet,' said Vrael, frowning. 'But there must be something we can use. There must be people he cares for that we could take into our power. Someone he would die to protect. One of his followers, perhaps, but how we would go about capturing one of them I cannot say.'

'There will be a way,' said Oromis. 'There must be a way. For now, I suggest we wait until he shows himself again. If indeed the attack at Orthíad has succeeded, he may well be dead or captured by now anyway. We will have to wait until Menulis returns.'

'I agree,' said Vrael. 'Let us think on this separately. We will meet again tomorrow and discuss this again.'

The elders bowed to each other, and departed.

Galbatorix lit a large black fire, and sat by it, cross-legged, the Forsworn around him. Kaelyn kept close to him, which made the others smile, but she said nothing and waited respectfully for him to speak.

'The first thing I want to know is where Morzan and Tranah are,' he said. 'They're not-?'

'We don't know where Tranah is,' said Strein. 'But she definitely got out of the Beors all right. She's probably in the North somewhere. And Morzan was with us until a few days ago.'

'Where did he go?' said Galbatorix.

'We, uh, had a disagreement,' Roland explained, shame-faced. 'Morzan resented it when I tried to take charge, and stormed off to look for you. That was three days ago, and we haven't seen him since.'

Galbatorix swore. 'Damned idiot. We'll have to go looking for him, and Tranah as well. But the beacon was a good idea. I saw it a long way off and figured out it was your doing, Roland. The Three Peaks, right?'

Roland nodded. 'I thought you would recognise my handiwork, sir. But you'd better tell us where you've been, and how you were able to get these two young fools to join us.' He glanced affectionately at Orwyne, who grinned and nudged him in the ribs. Vander smiled uncertainly.

'It's fairly simple,' said Galbatorix. 'Kaelyn and I were outside and saw them coming, so I sent her in to warn you. There would have been no time to organise ourselves effectively, and there were at least six of them coming, so… well, I suppose I panicked, really. I lit myself up with magic so they'd see me, and shouted a challenge, and that worked perfectly. Brought them straight to me. Menulis himself was leading them.'

Strein swore, which was most unlike her. '_Menulis?_'

Galbatorix nodded grimly. 'He's the one who sentenced my parents to death. Anyway, Shruikan joined me, and we did what we could to delay them. We went straight at Menulis – took him completely by surprise. I managed to injure Nyx with magic, and Shruikan had called up the storm, and that threw them into confusion. I don't know how many of them died – at least two. One was struck by lightning and I took out a second one. Didn't manage to kill Menulis, unfortunately, but I gave the bastard something to remember me by. It was a lucky hit. I got his sword-arm with magic and more or less ripped it clean off. He won't forget _that_ in a hurry. And I'm pretty sure Nyx will have trouble walking from now on – I got her in the forelegs. Didn't stop her doing us some damage, though.'

Shruikan lifted his wing, and they saw the row of three neat scars that went from his shoulder to his chest. Galbatorix rolled up the leg of his trousers and showed them the deep, partly-healed slash-marks over his calf. 'That was from Nyx's claws,' he said. 'She got both of us in one hit. It's lucky my leg was in the way, or Shruikan might have had his throat ripped out.'

The others murmured. 'That looks painful, sir,' said Roland. 'You're lucky not to have been crippled.'

'It wasn't much fun,' Galbatorix agreed calmly, pulling his trouser-leg back into place before he resumed. 'It still twinges a bit. That's why I fell over when I got off Shruikan's back just now. That and the fact that I'd stiffened up a bit from being in the saddle. Anyway, we gave them the slip in all the confusion and found somewhere to lay low for a while. We couldn't risk following you straight away in case we led the bastards right to you. We found a valley near some dwarf-city called… oh, I don't know, Farthen something. We had to stay there and rest for a while – we were both hurt, and the poison was still making me sick. But it was safe enough there. Unfortunately, we were found. By Vander here. He'd been with Menulis and had got lost in the storm. He wasn't expecting me to be there in the valley; he just landed there to take some water from the river. I took him by surprise and attacked him, but he surrendered.'

'You scared the life out of me,' said Vander, speaking almost for the first time.

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'Sorry. Anyway, so he promised not to attack me and we talked. I didn't trust him at first, but he explained that he had acted purely out of duty and because of his oath. In the end he admitted – oh, you tell them, Vander.'

Vander looked a little nervous, but said; 'I hate the elders as much as you do. Maybe more so.'

'Why?' said Strein.

'It's not really because of me,' said Vander. 'It's because of Ymazu. My dragon.'

The light-brown dragon watched them keenly as he spoke. She was only about Shruikan's size, but was clearly a mature adult – they could tell from the thickness of her horns and the spines on her back. She did not look like the dragons they knew; her horns were much shorter, her build was smaller and more compact, with a shorter neck and small stout legs, though her wings were quite large. Her wings were yellow and her eyes were gold.

'Ymazu is a plains dragon,' said Galbatorix. 'One of what I thought was a dead species until I met her.'

'Oh!' said Strein. 'You mean… weren't there…? The Hadarac…?'

'That's right,' said Roland. 'The Hadarac Desert is not a natural part of our country. It's in the wrong place. You don't get deserts in areas like that.'

'It used to be a huge plain,' said Vander. 'Until the riders destroyed it.'

Orwyne nodded grimly. 'I was there. In fact, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I helped them do it. The plains dragons refused to provide eggs for the riders, so they used a spell on the rivers that flowed through the plains to make them dry up. In the end the plains turned into a wasteland. The plains dragons left looking for somewhere else to live, but…'

'The plains were our home as well,' said Vander. 'My people. We were nomadic, and we lived alongside the plains dragons – they were sacred animals to us. After the desert was formed we managed to cling on there, but some of us gave in and found new homes in the cities, including my parents. I was born and raised in Utgard. When I told my parents I wanted to try and become a rider, they were furious. They hated the riders and forbade me to go to the trials, but I did anyway. I had dreams of dragons, and I believed they meant it was my destiny to be a rider. And I was right. I went to Ellesméra – it was at least ten years ago by now – and Ymazu hatched for me there. Her egg was one of those the riders stole from the plains dragons. A plainsman and a plains dragon. It was destiny. I did not want to take an oath to Vrael, but I did it out of fear of what they might do to me if I refused. But every day Ymazu would tell me to break free somehow, even though neither of us knew how we could do it. But this man here showed us the way. When he spoke to me, I saw he had the strength to do what I could not, and I begged him to let me join him.'

'And I agreed,' said Galbatorix. 'Well, how could I possibly refuse? I released Vander from his oath, and he swore loyalty to me. And, thankfully, he's very good at healing, so he was able to do something about Shruikan's neck and my leg – I'd only had the strength to partly heal it. So, once we were satisfied that it was safe to leave, we did so. But, well, I couldn't resist stopping along the way to get some supplies. I knew if we were going to hide in the North we'd need a few things, so we stopped by at Utgard. I went into the marketplace in the evening and stole a few things, and Vander went into the castle to gather some of his possessions – no-one had any idea he'd turned traitor, you see, so they welcomed him back with open arms. But, as it happened, there was another rider there who'd stopped by on her way somewhere else.'

'That was me,' Orwyne put in. 'Naturally I asked Vander to dine with me before I went on my way, which he agreed to. But I was a little puzzled by how jumpy he was. Still, we got on well, and then I mentioned you, Roland, and said how unhappy I was that you'd turned traitor and how I was afraid you might be killed. And Vander asked me if I knew why you'd done it. I had a hunch. I told him it was probably because of that crazy religion of yours.'

Roland grinned. 'Your hunch was correct, Orwyne my dear. Your crazy old mentor decided that the time to teach the elders a lesson was come, and ran off on, as they say, a wing and a prayer.'

Orwyne nudged him again. 'Always young at heart, Roland, eh? Anyway, Vander asked me if I believed the stories about the Great Betrayer and how he's insane and a murderer. I said I wasn't sure, but I doubted anyone could've done all the things he's done if they were crazy. Vander said some people were looking to him as the one to repay the elders in kind for all they'd done, and asked me if I believed that. He was quite persuasive, actually. When I said I wasn't about to start agreeing with someone I'd never met and who could very well be out of his mind, and then Vander admitted that he had met the Great Betrayer. Now _that_ I wasn't prepared for. And Vander told me how the Great Betrayer attacked Elder Menulis openly and on his own, so that his friends could escape, killed two riders without any help at all, and then vanished like smoke. I asked him how he had escaped, but he wouldn't tell me. I started to get suspicious, and then-,' she glanced at Galbatorix. '-That was when _you_ just appeared out of nowhere and nearly made me swallow my tongue. It didn't take me long to figure out who he was, but he _still_ won't tell me how the hell he did it. Of course, I freaked out and just about attacked him, but he took an oath that he would not attack me unless I attacked him first, and invited me to talk with him. Vander advised me to say yes, so I agreed. I locked the door, and we sat down together and talked. And then… well, and then Galbatorix told me everything. Every last bit of it. At first I didn't believe him, but he repeated it all in the ancient language, and I knew it was true. And he told me Roland had joined him of his own free will, and that he believed in the need to fight for justice, and that if I wanted to see him again I should go with him and Vander. Not to fight, not unless I wanted to, but by then I was already seeing things his way, and in the end I made my mind up and agreed to let him undo my vows and take me with him. So here I am.'

'That was a big step to take,' said Roland.

'I know,' said Orwyne. 'But I could never fight against you, Roland. Never. And if the elders want to kill you because you refused to be ashamed of what you believe… then I won't let them get away with it any more. And I was tired of working for them. Some of the things they did – I knew they were wrong, but I did nothing. But when Lord Galbatorix spoke to me, I knew the time had come for me to open my eyes and do what was right. So I took the vow to serve him and cut the points off my ears, and if you would count me as one of you, I would consider it an honour.'

'Of course we do,' Strein said stoutly.

'Now then,' said Galbatorix, reaching for his bag. 'Who would like an apple?'

He brought out a bag of fruit and shared it around, and they eagerly accepted it. While they sat around, munching on the sweet fruit, Roland said; 'As always, your exploits never fail to astound me, sir. However, I would like to respectfully ask what it is you intend for us to do next. Obviously we cannot attack Vroengard – at least, not at the moment – so what shall we do?'

'We're going to stay here,' said Galbatorix.

The others stared at him.

'What?'

'What?'

'_What?'_

'I'm sorry, sir, but are you being serious?' said Roland.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'We're going to stay in the North, for at least six months. Until the apprentices have had some more training and their dragons are big enough to fight. Because until that time, we're far less able to fight and travel properly.'

'But we can't survive here!' Strein exclaimed.

'_I_ survived here for months,' said Galbatorix. 'And my people lived here for at least fifty years. It's possible. We can't stay right here, but I can find us a better place. Besides, winter's ending. It'll be spring soon. It'll be much easier once the weather warms up a bit.'

'I should certainly hope so,' Roland mumbled.

'It'll be fine,' said Galbatorix. 'I promise. They won't come out here. Or, if they do, they'll be out of their element. There's nowhere for them to run to. This is _my_ country. Out here I'm the one who understands how the land works.' He smiled bitterly. 'Here, I'm King.'

It seemed that, with Galbatorix's return, luck returned to them as well. They spent the afternoon deep in discussion, deciding on a new strategy. They determined that they would indeed stay in the North, at least until Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas were ready to fight and their dragons old enough to ride. In the meantime, their first order of business had to be finding Morzan and Tranah. By now it was too late in the day to set off – finding anyone in the dark would be nigh-on impossible. But Galbatorix organised the others into pairs and chose a direction for each of them to go in, and they decided that they would set out first thing in the morning. After that it was time for dinner, and after that, sleep. Galbatorix strung up a hammock between two trees and promptly went to sleep in it, much to the surprise of the others. As Orwyne remarked, out of all the legends, rumours and stories about the Great Betrayer, none of them had ever mentioned that he slept in, of all things, a hammock.

'I've always found those things uncomfortable,' she added. 'But to each his own.'

The others found themselves places to settle down out of the wind, and Strein and the apprentices couldn't help but notice that Roland and Orwyne chose to sleep side-by-side "to keep warm". That made Kaelyn giggle for the first time in months. Roland pretended not to notice.

They settled down to sleep.

Kaelyn had strange dreams. She dreamt that she was riding Sartago, and he was not small any more, but huge – so huge she could not see the ground below them. She was holding an iron-grey sword that matched his scales, and as the air rushed past her she laughed. When she looked around, she realised there were other dragons flying around her. None of them had riders. One was gold, one green, one brown, one yellow, one orange and one red. She reached out to them, unafraid, and they looked at her, smiling, and she realised that they were her friends. The gold dragon chuckled and spoke in Roland's voice. _Can you see the future?_ he asked.

_I'm looking for it_, Kaelyn answered.

_Then open your wings,_ Roland advised.

Kaelyn didn't understand. But then she realised that she was Sartago. She roared and breathed silver fire, and the other dragons circled around her, laughing. She could feel her wings catch the wind, her claws flexed and spread wide to snatch at the clouds. She ate one and it tasted like snow.

_Be serious,_ a voice said. Perhaps it was hers.

The sky darkened abruptly, and she was flying through pitch blackness. But she was not afraid. The others were there with her, and there were stars overhead, and a yellow moon. Lightning flashed all around, but there were no clouds.

_A dragon doesn't fly in a storm,_ she said.

_But we do,_ said a voice – a deep, strong voice with a Teirmish accent – a voice she knew. A great, dark dragon appeared from out of the night, flying beside her. Everything about him was black – his wings, his claws, his horns, his scales. But he had a pointed beard and his horns were curly, and he looked at her with Galbatorix's eyes. _Follow me,_ he said. _The lightning trail._

He flew ahead, and Kaelyn followed him, but he disappeared and she couldn't see where he had gone. Then something hit her in the side, and the orange dragon said something she didn't understand.

Kaelyn started awake. Someone was prodding her in the ribs. She slapped them away without thinking.

'Ow! Kaelyn, that hurt!'

Kaelyn sat up. 'What? What's going on? Why's it so dark?'

'It's nighttime, you moron,' said a voice. She realised it was Gern's.

'Gern? What's going on?'

'It's Morzan,' said Gern. 'He's back. Quick, c'mon, I want to see what's going on.'

Kaelyn got up hastily, realising there was a hubbub of voices all around. The fire was still lit, she realised – someone had been standing between her and it. Her eyes readjusted to the gloom as Sartago came to join her, and she hurried to see what was going on.

Idün was crouched at the edge of the camp with the other dragons, evidently tired but apparently unhurt, tending to Aedua, who was lying quite still, eyes closed.

The adults were by the fire, talking urgently among themselves, crouched around someone who was lying down. It was Tranah. Galbatorix was there, talking to Morzan, and Roland had his box of potions out and was rummaging through it, helped by Orwyne.

Kaelyn went to him. 'What's happening?' she asked. 'What's wrong with Tranah?'

Tranah was lying very still. Her face was swollen and her clothes were torn and singed. She was still breathing, but her puffy eyes were shut. Strein was with her, holding her hand.

'She's eaten something she shouldn't have,' Roland explained briefly. 'Orwyne, pass me that vial, will you? No, that one. Thankyou.' He was mixing several potions together in a handy mug, stirring it with a stick.

Kaelyn touched Tranah's other hand. 'Are you all right, Tranah?' she asked. 'Can you hear me?'

'She can't,' said Strein, who was looking very pale. 'Her throat's swollen up. Roland, is it ready yet?'

Roland handed the completed potion to her. 'It needs to be warmed up a little before she drinks it,' he said. 'If you could help…'

Strein needed no encouragement. She muttered a few words over the potion, then held it out toward Tranah, saying; 'Here. Drink it, Tran, please!'

To Kaelyn's surprise, Tranah responded immediately – apparently, she hadn't been unconscious after all. She groped blindly for the mug, and Strein put it into her hand and helped her sit up and drink it, which she did with some difficulty.

Galbatorix and Morzan came over to see. 'How's she doing?' said Galbatorix.

Tranah sighed and held up a thumb. The others laughed.

'She'll be fine,' said Roland. 'And I'm going to have to refill some of these vials if people keep getting poisoned like this. But I think someone's going to have to deal with those burns.'

Kaelyn went cold. 'Burns? What happened to her?'

'I found her,' Morzan volunteered. He was looking tired, but proud. 'She'd made it here, but I didn't know one of those bastards had got her at Orthíad. It ain't pretty.'

Roland peeled back Tranah's tunic. The others cringed.

She was horribly burnt. A huge patch of blistered, partly-healed skin went clear across her midriff and over one leg; partly healed but evidently infected.

'Oh, dear gods,' Roland mumbled.

'Is _that_ what made her face swell up like that?' said Gern, not sounding as if he believed it.

'No,' said Roland. 'No, that was something else. Wolf lichen, if I'm any judge. It looks similar to the edible sort, but it's poisonous. The poor woman must have been forced to stop because of her injury and then mistakenly tried to eat some…'

'We'll need several of us working together to heal that,' said Galbatorix. 'Vander? Where is he?'

'Seeing to the dragon,' Orwyne put in.

The skinny man realised they were looking at him, and hurried over. 'I think she'll be all right,' he said. 'How's the rider?'

'Not good,' said Galbatorix. 'See what you can do for her, will you?'

Vander crouched by Tranah's side, examining the burn with a grim expression. 'I think I can heal it,' he said. 'But only if you help me. I need at least two of you.'

'I'll help,' Strein said immediately.

'And me,' said Roland.

'So will I,' said Orwyne, taking hold of her old master's hand.

Vander nodded. 'I assume you've done this before?'

'I have,' said Roland.

'So have I,' said Orwyne.

Strein, however, shook her head.

'It's simple enough,' said Vander. 'I'll speak the words of the spell. You three will channel your energy into me. I will open my mind to you. Form a temporary link with me, and share your energy with me. And for the love of gods, don't withdraw too soon. I saw someone do that once, and it nearly killed the pair of them.'

Strein nodded. 'I can do that.'

'Very well.' Vander breathed in deeply and spread his hand over Tranah's injury. He spoke a string of words in the ancient language – not the simple healing spell that Kaelyn knew. Pale brown light began to glow around the burn, and Tranah cried out in pain. Strein, Orwyne and Roland closed their eyes, each one frowning in concentration. They did nothing visibly, but Kaelyn saw Vander's magic become brighter, with streaks of light green, dark brown and bright gold swimming through it – the magic of the other three riders, added to his. Kaelyn had never seen anything like it in her life.

A minute or so passed. The wound slowly started to heal. Horribly, they could see the pus being expelled from it as the infection was purged from it as it healed. Tranah cried out again at that, the noise catching in her swollen throat. Kaelyn held her hand to comfort her, and Tranah evidently felt it, for she calmed down a little and lay still until the spell was completed and the burn had become a raw red scar. After that, she slept.

'Well done,' Galbatorix told them all. He looked around proudly at his followers, and bowed his head to them. 'Now we're back together and stronger than ever. Tranah will have plenty of time to recover, and we'll make the North our home until we're ready to take the fight back to the elders. Tomorrow I'll lead you to a better place for us to stay.'

'I don't like this place,' said Morzan. 'It's a wasteland.'

'I cannot say I like the prospect of staying here for months on end,' Roland agreed, albeit a little hesitantly.

'There's no _food,'_ said Gern. 'And no shelter, either.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Welcome to my kingdom.'


	37. King of the Dead

Chapter Thirty-Seven

King of the Dead

On the following day, Galbatorix led them North. The journey took more than a week, and none of them enjoyed it much. Every night they camped in some freezing spot in the middle of nowhere, more than once in the open, and on one occasion there was a blizzard that nearly killed them all. Tranah had to be helped onto Aedua's back, but the swelling about her face had gone down and she was able to eat and speak again, although she was bad-tempered with her own weakness and grumbled a lot. Tuomas caught a chill and needed to be looked after, and all of them began to doubt the wisdom of what they were doing. Galbatorix, however, insisted that there was a good place for them and continually urged them to keep going and not lose faith. They travelled on, trusting him, and in the end he did not let them down. He led them to a small valley between two mountains, where there was a thick forest and a river that flowed into a pool.

When they landed there, however, they quickly noticed something odd about it. Many of the trees were dead, evidently killed by fire. There were ashes and charcoal under the snow. Here and there they found strange black fires, exactly like the ones Galbatorix could make, still burning on the snow.

But that was not all they found.

Few of them had witnessed a sight as heartbreaking as that of Galbatorix walking among the trees, picking his way through the ruins of what had been his race's last home. He said nothing, but his face was pale and his expression distant. When the others dared to ask if there was anything they could do, he directed them to gather up the remains they found and to bring them to the banks of a small pool that stood among some birch trees. There they laid them down, and stood in a circle, heads bowed, while Galbatorix spoke the funeral rites. When he had done he lit the black fire. And, as they watched the dark flames slowly consume what was left of the massacred dark elves, they saw visions in them. Visions of a dozen lives that had ended. They saw dark elves, each one pale-skinned and black-haired. Dozens of Galbatorixes, each one moving with the same easy grace he had, each one dark and silent with glittering black eyes. His family.

Afterwards they gathered up the ashes and Galbatorix told them to cast them into the pool, which they did, while he stood by, head bowed, murmuring in dark elvish.

'_Chan briddo born a i mewn danio ffugiedig, at hud 'n ddedwydd a at oera ddyfrha claearedig, 'na at awel i mewn 'r nos at bod chwythedig ar gerdded at bro chan arianna a 'n befr blodau. Mai 'r dduwiau ca…'_ he trailed off then, and they saw the pain in his eyes before he abruptly turned and walked away.

Kaelyn tried to go after him, but Roland caught her by the arm and silently shook his head.

Galbatorix rejoined them a few hours later, when they had begun setting up camp. His eyes were reddened, but all he said was; 'This is where we'll make our home. I've been putting out the fires… not much point in keeping them going. Feel free to spread out if you want, but just make sure you choose somewhere out of sight of the sky. I very much doubt anyone will come out this far again – there's no point in returning if everyone here is already dead. But we'll keep watch. Always. I'm not getting caught off-guard again. At least one lookout on each mountain, understood?'

'Yes, sir,' said Orwyne. She glanced at Roland. 'Care to join me, Roland?'

'Wherever you go, I go,' Roland said cheerfully. He nodded to Galbatorix and departed, hand-in-hand with Orwyne. Talziri and Idün both offered to take the first lookout duty, and Sartago, Ithír and Leahdorus went with them while the Forsworn began to explore the valley, picking out places to stay. Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn decided to camp together, Morzan, Vander and Galbatorix went alone, and Tranah and Strein chose a spot by the river for them to share. It was agreed that the pool would be a meeting-place, since it was at more or less the centre of the valley, and once this had been decided everyone was left to their own devices for the rest of the day. Gern and Kaelyn forced Tuomas to get some sleep, and afterwards Kaelyn finally made up her mind and went to see Galbatorix.

She found him at the base of the taller of the two mountains. He'd set up a simple camp there, with a black fire already burning. A couple of spare robes were hanging up to dry – the snow had soaked into his bags – and he'd strung up a hammock between two fir trees. Shruikan was crouched a short distance away, gnawing at the remains of a dead deer, but Galbatorix himself was nowhere to be seen. Kaelyn nervously entered the camp, and finally saw him sitting in the branches of a tree. He had a thread and needle and was darning a hole in his trousers, but he had already spotted her. 'Hello. Have you finished settling in already?'

Kaelyn briefly considered climbing the tree, but decided against it. 'We've picked a good spot,' she said.

'Good,' said Galbatorix. 'Tomorrow your training will start again. I'm going to talk to the others so we can decide who'll do what. We'll take it slowly at first, but it'll be hard work. Still, with luck, you'll enjoy it. It probably won't be as efficient as it might've been in Ilirea, but we'll do our best. How does that sound?'

'It sounds good,' Kaelyn said rather lamely.

He didn't miss the signs. 'Anything the matter?' he enquired.

Kaelyn hesitated, wrestling with herself.

'It's all right,' said Galbatorix. 'Say it.'

That gave her the encouragement she needed. She breathed in deeply and said; 'I'm not going to bother you again, Master, I promise. I'll leave you alone from now on. I just wanted to… I'd like to apologise for what happened at Orthíad. I shouldn't have acted like that. I just…'

'I understand,' said Galbatorix. 'And I'm very sorry if I led you on; I didn't mean to. I _do_ care about you, Kaelyn. You're like a daughter to me. That's why I sent you away when the attack started; I wanted to keep you safe.'

'I thought…' Kaelyn looked down, ashamed. 'I thought I was in love.'

Galbatorix smiled. 'When you're in love, you'll know it. Trust me, you'll know.'

'Who was she?' Kaelyn dared ask. 'The woman you loved. What was she like?'

'Like no-one I've ever met before or since,' said Galbatorix. 'She was…' he stared out over the trees. '…fierce. Very fierce. Even wild. She wasn't very emotional most of the time, and sometimes it even felt like she was indifferent about a lot of things. But when she cared about someone or something… everything about her was intense. If she hated something, she hated it more savagely than you can imagine. But if she loved something…' he grinned slyly. 'When she kissed me, it was almost like being attacked. And… well, she had very sharp fingernails and she used to dig them into me without realising it.' He coughed, suddenly embarrassed.

Kaelyn couldn't help it; she laughed. 'She sounds scary.'

'I suppose she was a little frightening,' Galbatorix admitted. 'But that was what I liked best about her.'

'What was her name?'

Galbatorix hesitated. 'I'd better not say.'

'Well what did she look like?'

'Like nothing I've ever seen since,' said Galbatorix. 'Her eyes were like two suns and her hair was like the moonlight.' He sighed. 'I miss her.'

'Where did she go?'

'She went away over the sea, to find her father. One day, she'll come back.'

Kaelyn said nothing. But her heart ached with sadness for him. No-one who went over the sea ever returned. His waiting would be in vain.

'I'm impressed,' said Galbatorix, cutting across her thoughts. 'You acted very maturely by apologising, even if it wasn't entirely your fault. I hope what happened doesn't spoil our friendship.'

'Friendship?' said Kaelyn, surprised.

He nodded. 'Of course. I consider all of you to be my friends.'

'Of course we are,' Kaelyn said stoutly. 'You're a friend to the outcasts, aren't you? And we're _all_ outcasts. Every one of us.'

Galbatorix chuckled. 'And sometimes, being an outcast isn't so bad, is it?'

From then on they stayed in the valley, which they came to refer to as the Valley of the Dark Elves, and their time of temporary peace began. The three apprentices spent every day in training, and each one of the adults taught them something different. Roland taught them about poisons and antidotes and the various properties of herbs, in which he was helped by Orwyne, Vander shared his knowledge of the different healing magics, which he had made a special study of, Morzan taught them swordplay and hand-to-hand combat, Tranah and Strein taught strategy and battle tactics, and from Galbatorix they learned magic. Although their training was spread out over several different teachers, they still regarded Galbatorix as their master. He attended most of their lessons, and the others graciously allowed him to have some imput, although on plenty of occasions he was learning things too. Tranah had made a full recovery from her burn, although she now walked with a very slight limp and categorically refused to so much as touch another piece of lichen, even if someone else ate it first.

At first some of them still had their doubts about whether the valley would be able to provide them with a safe home, but Galbatorix quickly showed them how to find food. There were fish and edible plants in the river, and birds were about, and deer as well. Strange pale-blue mushrooms grew under the snow, and there were edible fern roots that could be dug up and roasted. They collected deer hides and used them to build small shelters in the dark elvish style, spreading them over wooden frames. Galbatorix taught them how to gather wool from the herds of mountain sheep that lived in the area and weave it into cloth, and even jokingly offered to make each of them a robe like the one he constantly wore. They declined, but he did make a pair of deerhide snow-boots for each of them, teaching them how to wrap strips of leather around their calves to keep them warm and dry – something they were more than happy to do. They quickly saw how at home he was here, and if any of them had had any lingering doubts about whether he had told the truth about his heritage, they fled then.

After a month or so had passed, spring was well upon them. The weather became steadily warmer and the snow melted, leaving only a few patches on the two mountains. Grass grew in the valley, and flowers appeared as if out of nowhere. The river became wide and rushing, clear and icy with snowmelt, and the sun shone brightly, making the air sparkle gold with pollen. It was not spring like they had known in the South – there was still an icy chill in the air, and often there was ice around the edges of the pond in the morning. But it was much more hospitable now.

And this was their new life. No more fighting, no more running. Although they continued to keep watch, they never saw a sign of anyone else, and they were able to relax at last.

But that didn't mean they had forgotten about the war – not by any means. The three apprentices couldn't help but notice that their teachers continued to meet regularly and discuss possible future attacks. Galbatorix was preparing to unleash something big.

They were learning more of the ancient language all the time, and one night, when a bright half-moon was overhead, Kaelyn quietly and secretly took a new oath, swearing herself to her master with the moon as her only witness. She kept it a secret from him – she had not forgotten how he had pleaded with her not to do it. But she didn't care.

As for Galbatorix, a month or so after their arrival he contacted Durza again and found the Shade had good news.

_I have found the Ra'zac,_ he reported. _They were hiding in the Spine._

Galbatorix paused. '"They"?'

_Yes. The one you spared found her mate again, and has laid her eggs. She is willing to help you in time, but she will not act until her eggs have hatched. That will take time. I do not know how much time; Ra'zac have little comprehension of a unit of time beyond a day._

'Make sure you keep track of them,' said Galbatorix.

_I will. If you would like, I can enter into their minds and control them. They will do anything for you if I will them to._

'No,' Galbatorix said sharply. 'I don't want slaves.'

_They are only creatures, my Lord._

'Even so. What else do you have to report? What's the latest news? What are they saying about us now?'

_The elders have spread the supposed news that your followers were attacked and badly damaged at Orthíad. Supposedly, you ran away and left them to fight alone, and are now in hiding somewhere while the other survivors are scattered, too cowardly to regroup._

Galbatorix sighed. 'Just as I expected. What's the reaction been?'

_Most of the people refuse to believe it,_ said Durza. _They are saying that if you truly were weak or cowardly you would be dead or captured by now, and many have insisted that your earlier actions – particularly the rescue of the three youngsters at Gil'ead – show that you are not a coward. In fact, many people are angry over the claims. They say the elders are liars – too cowardly to fight you themselves, and too incompetent to organise the other riders to fight you effectively. They have never been faced with a challenge like this before, and it is now plain to all that they are unprepared for it. As soon as you return, it will immmediately prove that the claims were false. And the fact that you have now added two more to the Forsworn – two more senior riders, no less – will do even more to enhance your reputation. And there is other news as well._

'What?' said Galbatorix.

_A rider has been attacked in the streets of Teirm,_ said Durza. _He was going somewhere on business, and was assaulted by a gang of civillians._

Galbatorix's eyes widened. 'What happened?'

_He fought only to defend himself at first,_ said Durza. _But others joined in. In the end he lost his head and began killing his attackers. Many people died; the fight caused a great deal of damage as well. The rider escaped back to the castle, but the story has spread far and wide, and it is a very powerful one. Now the people know that riders are not invincible. When the governor of Teirm had a number of people arrested and executed, it only inflamed the situation further. Take your time, my Lord. Rebellion is breaking out without the need for your presence. Of course, it will be disorganised and will not get far until you take charge. But it can continue to build until you return. When you give the signal for it to begin… it will begin. If you were to show yourself somewhere and stay long enough, I have no doubt that a hundred people would run to you to swear themselves to your cause._

Galbatorix nodded. 'I see…'

_But beware, half-breed,_ said Durza. _The elders are more than aware of the situation, and you can be sure that they will not remain idle. Soon they will be desperate. And when that happens, they will begin acting accordingly. They will stoop to using any means to destroy you. When desperation sets in, honour does not survive long. _

'I understand,' Galbatorix said grimly.

That night, the nightmare visited him again.

He saw himself standing alone in the dark, not as he was now but as he had once been; beardless, freckled, innocent, holding an awl and a leather-knife. This other version of himself smiled at him, then jerked in surprise. He looked down and realised that there was a dagger in his chest. He tried to pull it out, but when he did, pain blossomed inside him and blood began to soak into his clothes. He realised that the awl had become a spear and the leather-knife had turned into White Violence. A huge, menacing shape loomed over him, and he screamed and hurled the spear. The monster fell, but then he realised it was Laela. Laela, dying in the snow. _I have to go. _

She stared at him and crumbled into ashes, and he screamed and fell, dying beside her, the sword falling out of his hand.

Everything else vanished. All he could see was himself, lying there in a pool of blood, his face deathly pale. And then they were there. Five figures, appearing from out of the gloom, each one robed and hooded. They surrounded his body in a silent circle, heads bowed, as if they were mourning for him.

_The boy is insane,_ one of them murmured.

_Arren Cardockson is dead,_ said another.

_How did he die?_

_He killed himself. _

_He is a murderer._

And then it was not him who was dead, but them, and he walked away, looking for his friends. But they were not there. He called out for them, but there was no reply. _From this it comes,_ Laela's voice whispered.

And then he was alone. Forever.

On on the following day, when the three apprentices came to see him, they found him clad in his thickest robe with White Violence strapped to his back. Shruikan was standing nearby, wearing his saddle, with a bag of food slung over his shoulders.

'Master, what's going on?' Gern asked.

Galbatorix went to stand by Shruikan's forelegs. 'No lessons from me today,' he told them. 'Go to the others as usual. I'm going to be away today.'

'Why?' said Kaelyn.

'There's something I have to do,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll be back by tonight.'

'But where are you going?' Kaelyn persisted. 'Can I come with you?'

'No, Kaelyn. This is something I have to do on my own. But I swear I'll be back.' He climbed onto Shruikan's back and did up the leg-straps.

'But why won't you tell us where you're going?' said Tuomas. 'You're not running away or something, are you?'

Galbatorix sighed and spoke in the ancient language. 'I will return,' he said.

'But where-?' Kaelyn began.

She didn't get an answer. Shruikan flew away.

Galbatorix knew what he was looking for. Finding it, however, would be easier said than done. He and Shruikan flew for hours, both scanning the ground for any sign of it.

But they didn't find it that day. They returned to the camp by evening, where Galbatorix refused to answer his friends' questions beyond simply saying; 'There's something I have to find.'

He wasn't sure why he was being so secretive about it. Perhaps he was afraid.

It was on the second day that he found it.

There wasn't much left. Three dragon skeletons lay discarded on a melted snowfield, a few scattered scales the only thing left to identify them. Of the riders there was nothing left at all – just their swords, half-buried in the earth. Flowers were growing among the remains, and he could see where scavenging wolves had gnawed at the bones.

He could tell which one of them was Laela. She lay a little apart from the others, a few white scales still clinging to her ribs. Galbatorix knelt and touched the bleached skull of what had once been his greatest friend, and realised that he felt nothing. Relief washed over him. This wasn't Laela. This was just… a thing. Just a few bones. They didn't mean anything and they weren't needed any more. This place, this empty plain, wasn't where Laela was now. Wherever she had gone, it wasn't here.

Galbatorix picked up a loose scale and pocketed it, then walked away and gathered up the two swords, hanging them off Shruikan's saddle. While the black dragon stood by and watched impassively, he walked slowly around Laela's bones, reciting the funeral rites under his breath. He didn't cast the black fire around her. There wasn't really anything left to burn.

For a while he stayed there, amazed by his own calmness. 'Where are you, Laela?' he said aloud. 'Where did you go?'

The only silence was the wind, whistling through Laela's bleached bones.

Galbatorix sighed and stood up. _'All right, let's go,'_ he said.

Shruikan came over to sniff at the bones. _'This was…?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Why did you come looking for it?'_

'_I don't know. I suppose I wanted to say goodbye.'_

'_Why? She can't hear you.'_ Shruikan sounded genuinely confused.

Galbatorix shrugged and climbed back into the saddle. _'I don't know. It's a human thing.'_

They flew back to the valley in silence. It was evening by the time they got there, and the others were at the main camp by the pool, sharing a meal.

'Hello, sir,' Tranah greeted him.

'Good to see you back, sir,' said Roland.

They moved aside to give him room, and he sat down and unceremoniously dumped the two swords by the fire.

They stared at them, amazed. 'Where did you get _those?'_ said Morzan. 'You din't-?'

'No way,' said Tranah. 'Not even he could've done that.' But she looked questioningly at Galbatorix, who paused, sighed, and said; 'No. I haven't done any fighting today. I found those.'

'Found 'em where?' said Morzan.

'Out there, on the plain.'

'But how did they get there, Master?' said Gern.

Galbatorix gave up. 'I went looking for the place where Laela died,' he said at last. 'I just found it. The swords belonged to the people who murdered her.'

The others went quiet.

'You killed them, didn't you, sir?' said Strein.

'Yes. I don't remember it very well, but I remember that. Anyway… I said the funeral rites and then came back.'

There was a deathly silence. The others glanced uncomfortably at each other. Galbatorix paid no attention. He took the white dragon scale out of his pocket and tied it to White Violence's hilt with a piece of thread.

'So,' he said. 'How did the lessons go today?'

'Fairly well,' said Roland. 'Today we mastered the art of making a simple sleeping potion.'

'And I disarmed Tuomas,' said Gern. 'It was sort of an accident, but Morzan said I could've taken his head off if I'd wanted to.'

'I had a go at riding Sartago today,' said Kaelyn. 'He's not strong enough to carry me in the air yet, but he walked for a while. Vander said I had good balance.'

Galbatorix listened, pleased. 'Sounds like you had a good day. Give it a month or so, and you'll be flying. In fact, we'd better start teaching you how to make saddles for them, hadn't we? I'm sure Shruikan will be more than happy to catch some deer for the hides.'

'Good idea, sir,' said Tranah.

After this Galbatorix didn't leave the valley again for long; the closest he ever came to it was when, every now and then, he and Shruikan would spend an hour or so in the air. They never flew out of sight, but merely circled the valley and the area around it, keeping watch and enjoying some time away from the others. The rest of the time they stayed in the valley. The training of the three apprentices continued apace, and Shruikan even consented to teach their dragons a few things about fighting and hunting.

Sartago, Ithír and Leahdorus continued to grow rapidly, slowly shedding their youthful awkwardness and developing into adults. Sartago, who had been somewhat awkward and chunky as a hatchling, now began to show more and more how powerful he would become. His shoulders became broad and muscular, his wings wide, his chest deep and strong and his snout blunt and heavy. His scales roughened and his horns and spines became thick and strong, and his voice deepened. Soon he would be old enough to breathe fire, but in the meantime he developed the ability to roar like an adult, which he did every evening, signalling his presence and strength in the ancient dragon way. In the wild, Galbatorix explained, every dragon would roar to remind all others that he owned the territory where he lived and would attack if challenged for it. Even a bonded dragon retained that instinct. At first Kaelyn found it a little frightening, but in time she grew accustomed to it.

Leahdorus and Ithír too were becoming more mature. Leahdorus was the more delicate of the two females, and the fastest in the air. She was the one who began breathing fire first – at first all she produced was a few small puffs of weak yellow flame, but she grew steadily better at it and even began helping to teach the other two how to do it. Next it was Ithír who stepped over the line into adulthood; her fire was much hotter than Leahdorus', even though she had trouble controlling it, and was a beautiful shade of bright gold. Sartago was jealous of the two females, but Kaelyn soothed him by reminding him that, after all, he was the one who first became sufficiently strong to carry his rider in the air. It would only take a little time before he too was breathing fire.

And, sure enough, when the grey dragon was about seven months old, he finally produced his first flame. And, just as in Kaelyn's dream, it was silver.

The three apprentices now began training even more in earnest; learning how to fight from dragonback, using both magic and bows. Their teachers showed them how to make firebombs – burning missiles that would explode on impact and which could be used to devastate a city or an opposing army. The three dragons were made to lift, push and carry increasingly heavy loads to build up their strength, and were shown how to dive, swoop and dodge in the air – even fight another dragon.

Before long, Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas were able to hold their own in swordplay and were all reasonably competent at using magic. Tuomas was gifted at healing, much like Vander, and, realising that he enjoyed having the skill, made a special study of it. Kaelyn, however, preferred destructive magic. She got a dark thrill out of casting a spell at a rock or a tree and seeing it explode into fragments, or hurling fireballs as fast as she could and watching them leave huge burn-marks wherever they struck. She practised lifting and throwing things and practised the spell of paralysis until she could use it effectively even on Sartago, although the grey dragon didn't enjoy it much. She practised constantly with her sword, fixated on mastering every new move her trainers showed her, and when her hands blistered she wrapped strips of cloth around them and resumed. She did not want to be just a useless child who needed to be looked after all the time. She wanted to be a warrior, and not just any warrior, but the strongest member of the Forsworn. She wanted to be useful, not a burden.

Their time in the valley was peaceful, but it wasn't easy. They soon became used to living in the North, and eventually stopped missing cities and houses. Still, that didn't mean they had forgotten the South. In fact, the only one there who didn't seem to miss it was Galbatorix. As the self-mockingly styled King of the North, he was in his element here. The North was in his blood. He began unconsciously sprinkling his his conversation with dark elvish words and phrases, and when he was in a good mood and thought no-one else was listening he would sing dark elvish songs to himself. Sometimes, in the evenings, he would teach them bits and pieces of his peoples' lore and legends.

'My name,' he said on one of these occasions. 'It probably sounds a little strange. Well, it's dark elvish. Galbatorix – "great king", or, literally, "big chief". "Galba", meaning "big", and "torix", meaning "chief". There were a few dark elvish kings with that name, or similar ones. Like "Vercingtorix" – "warrior king", "Dumnorix" – "strong king", and "Orgetorix" – "cunning king". My father must have chosen my name. It was probably a way of mocking the riders, really – giving a bastard half-breed such a grand name. I probably should have stuck with Arren, really, but I thought of changing my name as a way of reclaiming who I really was.'

'Galbatorix suits you better,' said Roland.

'I agree,' said Tranah. 'I couldn't imagine someone like you having a name like "Arren". That name sounds like… well, I don't know…'

'…like it belongs to a Teirmish leatherworker's son?' Galbatorix suggested.

'I suppose so, yes,' said Tranah.

'Well, I suppose it's always best to remember who you are. I might be the Great Betrayer now, but I still remember the first important skill I learned: making boots.' The others laughed, and Galbatorix glanced at the boots he was wearing and sighed. 'I'm still terrible at doing the heels. If my father was here right now, he'd thump me in the ear and tell me to do it again.' He shook his head gloomily. 'He was a good man, my foster-father. He didn't deserve what happened to him.'

'What _did_ happen to him, sir?' said Vander.

'Murdered,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'Along with my foster-mother. Their neighbours wanted the bounty on my head and killed them out of frustration when they realised they didn't know anything about where to find me.'

'Carina and I did everything we could to catch them,' Morzan put in. 'I swear.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'I believe you, Morzan.'

About five months after their arrival in the North, the feeling gradually arose among the Forsworn that it would soon be time to return to the South. The weather was gradually getting colder as autumn approached. Before long the land would be blanketed in snow once more, and it would become steadily harder to cling on. No-one said anything at first, but none of them doubted that the time to go back and resume the war would soon come.

Still, when Galbatorix finally announced that it was time, it came as something of a surprise.

'I've been consulting Durza again,' he said. 'The rebellion is starting to die down; people are saying I'm either dead or have run away somewhere and won't come back. We can't afford to leave it any longer. We're going back. Two days from now, we leave. No arguments.'

No-one had any, but they cast significant glances at each other, each feeling a little thrill of fear and excitement inside.

They began preparing to leave the very next day; packing away their belongings and dismantling every piece of temporary camp equipment they'd erected aside from the shelters they slept in. They repaired the dragons' saddles, gathered together as many supplies as they could carry, and went to bed early that night, ready for a long journey on the following day.

Shruikan woke them up at dawn, his roar echoing over the valley and summoning them to the pool. Galbatorix was already packed and ready, wearing his warmest robe, which he'd trimmed with wolfskin, and with White Violence slung on his back as always. Shruikan, who if anything had grown bigger and wilder during their retreat, was saddled and rustling his wings, anxious to leave.

'Saddle up,' Galbatorix told them briefly. 'We'll eat in the air.'

In less than an hour they were underway. They dismantled their shelters and hid all signs of their occupation, mostly out of habit but also partly out of respect to the valley that had been their home for so long. Once the dragons had been saddled and loaded up with baggage, it was time to depart.

Galbatorix and Shruikan naturally went first, and the others flew in formation behind them, with Ithír, Sartago and Leahdorus in the middle and the stronger dragons on the outside for protection, Keth and Orwyne's dragon Calanon bringing up the rear.

The journey back to Alagaësia, and war, and danger, began.


	38. The War Begins

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The War Begins

They returned to the South without incident, and, crossing the border back into occupied land in the evening, they found a temporary refuge on the edge of the Spine where they rested and began to plan their next move.

'What we do next is simple,' said Galbatorix. 'We announce our return, and we make it something difficult to miss.'

'What did you have in mind, sir?' Roland enquired.

Galbatorix stared into the flames of the black fire. 'Ellesméra,' he said. 'We're going to attack the elves where they least expect it.'

The others were taken aback. 'Are you sure, sir?' said Tranah.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'I want to make it clear that our fight is against the elves and, through them, all elvish or elf-controlled riders.'

'It'll be dangerous, sir,' said Orwyne. 'The elves are powerful fighters.'

Galbatorix laughed darkly. 'So? We're riders.' He looked around at his friends, the fire throwing shadows onto his face and turning it into a grim mask. 'We will do to those accursed Southern elves what they did to my people, and to the red dwarves, and the plains dragons, and to so many other races. We will show them what it is to see your home and your people destroyed, and the survivors will run in terror and know that their power over this land has been taken away from them forever.'

Roland stood up. 'I cannot agree,' he said. 'It would be-,'

'Cruel?' Galbatorix said sharply. 'Ruthless? Yes. This is war, Roland. Ruthlessness is what will bring us victory. We're doing this to make a point, not just to satisfy some insane bloodlust. The elves are a cursed race. It's thanks to them that this land has become what it is – empty.' He stood up as well, casting his powerful gaze not just at Roland, but at all of them. 'This land is empty,' he said again. 'Bare and barren. Think of how many races used to live here, how rich and diverse it used to be. Shapeshifters, silver elves, unicorns, red dwarves, weredragons, Durgians, sand people, yellowskins… so many races, so many languages, so many cultures, so many different ways. And they made this land what it was. But where are they now? They're dead. Dead and gone. Erased. Wiped away from the face of the land they called home. And why is that? Who is responsible? The elves, that's who. They only let humans and dragons stay because they're _useful._ Because that's all we are to them. That's all _any_ of us are to them. Animals. Beasts of burden. "Share thee thy magic with us, and we shall make a power that shall bring peace for all races", that's what they told the dragons. And what did they do? They took all that power and used it to make a wasteland, and they called that peace. They killed the old kings and turned humans into their vassals. No-one rebels because no-one dares. They know they wouldn't stand a chance. The riders don't rule this land, the elves do. That's all we were to them – tools. It's _our fault_ that this happened. They _used_ us. And they're still using the rest of them, but they don't even realise it. They brainwash new riders with their dogma; they won't let you be human, because being human is a weakness and they can't stand weakness. Religion, laughter, asking questions, letting yourself change, having an open mind… those are all human things, and they try and take those things away from you. They won't even let you grow a _beard,_ for the gods' sakes. And if you refuse… what happens then?' he pointed accusingly at each of them in turn – first Roland, then Tranah, then Morzan and then the others, one by one. 'Heretic! Pervert! Clumsy oaf! Traitor! _Human._' He finished by smiting himself in the chest. 'And then there's me. The filthy half-breed whose very existence was such a threat to them that they would go to any lengths to crush it. _I _say that it's time to take the fight back to the elves. Show them the consequences of their own cruelty, their racism, their narrow-mindedness, their prejudice, their arrogance. Tomorrow I will go to Ellesméra and I will show them the horror of what they have done, and if I must I will do it alone. But if you call yourselves my followers, if you _truly_ believe that what we are doing is just, you will help me, and we will punish the elves, and all the world will see us and know that the hour for revenge has come.'

As he finished speaking, he wrenched White Violence out of its scabbard and swung it with all his might at a nearby tree. The blade hit it hard and embedded itself nearly halfway through the trunk, where it stuck, and Galbatorix turned to stare silently at the Forsworn, waiting for their reply. His chest was heaving and his eyes were ablaze, and the depth of his hatred was there for all to see.

Morzan stood up. 'I'm coming with you,' he said. 'You're right, sir. About all of it.' He drew Zar'roc and held it up, almost in a kind of salute. 'I've sat on my arse far too long, and I ain't lettin' my sword rust. Zar'roc means misery. And that's what the elves are going to feel.'

Morzan's unusual eloquence prompted the others into action. Tranah and Strein stood and drew their swords too, silently pointing them at the sky to signify their willingness to fight. After a moment, Vander joined them, along with Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas.

'We're with you, Master,' said Kaelyn, grim-faced.

'And you, Roland?' said Galbatorix. 'And you, Orwyne?'

Orwyne was looking hesitant, but kept glancing at Roland, evidently waiting for him to make up his mind. The old rider looked troubled, but at last he stood up and said; 'I cannot say I like it, but I must concede that you are correct. The elves it is who are responsible for what happened to the faithful, and for that they must pay. The Three Peaks teach that the punishment of the godless is a sacred thing if done with a true heart… therefore, I will do it. But may I offer some advice, my Lord?'

'Speak,' said Galbatorix.

'I agree that an attack on Ellesméra would be a powerful signal,' said Roland. 'However, it may well be too large for us to handle at this point. I suggest we turn our attack on another, smaller elvish settlement, perhaps Osilon, which is not far from here. Queen Islanzadí will have many powerful warriors around her, which we could no doubt handle, but attacking a smaller city would entail less of a risk while still carrying a great deal of impact.'

Galbatorix stroked his beard. 'Hmmm. You're probably right, Roland. All right. We'll discuss this before we make a decision.' He sat down again, his normal calm abrubtly returning, and at his prompting the others did the same.

They spent much of that night endlessly debating over the attack, ignoring their tiredness. Several arguments broke out, plans were made and scrapped, but by midnight a decision had been made. They would attack Osilon, as Roland had advised, and they would do it immediately, before word of their return had spread.

'Right,' said Galbatorix, once this was settled. 'We'll go, and immediately. If we fly quickly, we should read Osilon by dawn.' He glanced at Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas and added; 'Now, as for you three-,'

'We're coming, Master,' said Gern.

The other two nodded.

'All right,' said Galbatorix. 'But stay close to me and don't try anything silly, understand?'

'Yes, Master,' said Kaelyn. Behind her, Sartago snorted his agreement.

And then there was no time left.

The attack at Osilon began shortly before dawn on the next day, and went down in history as the first true battle in the war that would eventually be known as the Fall of the Riders. The elvish settlement there was taken completely by surprise. Galbatorix and the Forsworn came at them from all sides, simply appearing from out of the pre-dawn gloom with a silent rush of wings. And after that, the fight began.

Keth, Calanon and Ymazu circled around the edges of the settlement, breathing lances of fire down among the trees and setting them all ablaze. Shruikan made straight for the middle of the city, where King Ainion, the elvish ruler of Osilon dwelt, and launched a savage assault on his home.

Bewildered and caught unaware, Ainion unwisely rushed out of his home to see what was happening. He was in time to see Galbatorix himself jump down from Shruikan's back and charge toward him, sword in hand.

Normally Ainion would have been quick to react, but nothing had prepared him for what he saw now.

Galbatorix had prepared himself for battle. He had decorated his hair with crow feathers and carved bone ornaments, and his face was painted with the dark elvish signs of warfare. What King Ainion saw coming toward him then was not a man but a dark elf, just like those he had fought and killed in the past. A dark elf, returned to life, coming for him, black eyes alight with hatred and bloodlust.

And Ainion panicked. He turned and fled back into his home. There, his own sword was hanging on the wall, and he grabbed it, turning around just in time to see Galbatorix kick down the door and rush in to attack him.

A brief and undignified fight ensued; Ainion managed to hold his own for a time, but, realising he was outmatched, managed to escape from the house and ran out into the city. What he saw made terror and despair close over his mind in a blank black haze.

Osilon was ablaze. Fire ringed the city, and the air was full of screams and roars. Dragons were swooping low over the settlement, teeth bared, claws spread wide, and everywhere he looked he saw his people running for their lives. But they were being pursued.

A blast of magic exploded somewhere to his left, followed by an outbreak of screams and cries, and he turned automatically to look.

But there was no more time for him. There was a crash as a window behind him broke, and Galbatorix leapt through it, raising his hand to sent a blast of black magic straight at him. Ainion managed to block it, but Galbatorix continued to attack, steadily driving him backward. In the end Ainion broke and ran. He did not get far. Bewildered, panic-stricken and scared out of his mind, he ran blindly – straight into Shruikan's waiting claws.

Galbatorix did not linger to gloat over the elvish ruler's body. He ran off into the mêlée, sword in hand, and Shruikan followed.

The elves were not completely helpless. Plenty of those there had training in the art of war, and once some of them had managed to organise themselves they put up a good fight. But they were outmatched and outled. The Forsworn were all in the city now; the riders running on foot from building to building, killing everyone they saw, while the dragons flew overhead, destroying the city with fire, occasionally landing to wreak havoc on a group of elves who had managed to group together.

By noon the last of the elvish resistance had been overcome, and then it was only a matter of rooting out and killing the survivors.

The Osilon Massacre, as it would come to be called, was also something that would begin to establish Galbatorix's true nature and intentions. One day it would be part of the making of someone who would become known as the most feared man in Alagaësia. Virtually no-one in Osilon survived.

Afterwards the Forsworn gathered together in the middle of the city, where Galbatorix was waiting for them. He was cut and bruised and his beard was singed, but he was otherwise unscathed. White Violence was still in his hand, its blade stained with blood. He was tired, filthy and sweaty, but he looked more alive then than he had ever done before. 'Everyone all right?' he enquired.

They paused to take stock. Roland was clutching a broken arm, Vander had taken an arrow in the leg, Morzan had a broken nose, Strein was bleeding from the throat and Orwyne had a deep slash from a sword that had narrowly missed tearing open her abdomen. Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn were unhurt by virtue of having kept close to their elders, but several of the dragons were also hurt, and no-one there had a clean sword.

'Some of the bastards got away into the forest,' Morzan reported. 'Not many of 'em.'

'We'll let them go,' said Galbatorix. 'Someone has to carry the word of what we've done.'

'Quite, sir,' said Roland, wincing. 'Could someone help me with this cursed arm?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Vander, if you could help…?'

They took some time to attend to their injuries, and afterwards they picked through the ruined buildings, looking for anything useful they might take.

It took them some time to realise the enormity of what they had done. More than fifty elves were dead, including King Ainion, who, Orwyne recalled, was a cousin of Islanzadí herself.

Most of them had seen battle before – in fact Roland, Orwyne and Tranah were surprisingly relaxed over the sight of the battlefield. Morzan, however, had gone very pale and was slightly snappish, and Gern was promptly sick. Tuomas and Kaelyn wandered here and there, their expressions faraway, as if they were in a trance.

Galbatorix walked among the rubble with nothing but disgust on his face, kicking aside lumps of charred wood and occasionally pausing to stoop and examine something. In the midst of the fight he had been savage and unstoppable; Kaelyn had seen him as he fought and seen the burning in his eyes and the snarl on his face. It had stripped away everything about him that made her feel safe. In that moment he had not been the Galbatorix she knew, but someone else, someone terrifying. Now, she did not dare approach him, though he looked bizarrely casual as he stalked through the ruined city, muttering to himself. The warpaint on his face was smeared and there was a cut on his cheek which he hadn't bothered to heal.

When the search was done with and they had gathered some loot and winkled out the last few survivors who were in hiding, they returned to the centre of the city, by Ainion's home, and there looked to Galbatorix for what to do next.

Galbatorix sighed and rolled his shoulders to loosen them. 'It's done,' he said. He glanced around at the devastation, and spat on the ground. 'No point in hanging around. We'll go now. But first gather the dragons. We're going to burn all this down.'

Which they did, with Shruikan directing his fellows to send their fire straight at the heart of each building that was left standing until everything was ablaze. They cleared the area and hovered overhead, watching Osilon burn, and once it had all been reduced to ashes Galbatorix returned to the ground, alone, and there moved slowly and laboriously among the ashes, dragging his sword along the ground and leaving a line behind him. When he had done, a huge triple-spiral design had been inscribed in the middle of the devastation.

They left after that. But the silence, which had been shocked, even reverential, did not last long. Morzan looked back at the ruins of Osilon as they flew away, and let out a wild whoop, raising his fist in the air. 'We did it!' he crowed.

The others cheered at this. Even Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn joined in, suddenly swept up in a sense of excitement that they had not realised was there before. They had looked death in the face, but they had survived, and they had won.

The dragons roared, again and again, the sound echoing over the forest of Du Weldenvarden. It was a sound that proclaimed strength and fighting will, and the message at the heart of it was, simply, _we live._

Galbatorix, hearing it, and feeling Shruikan's fierce response awaken his own animal instinct, laughed aloud.

That afternoon they came to rest at an isolated spot in the forest, dismounting in a large rocky clearing. There, in spite of their exhaustion, they congratulated each other, laughing and talking and comparing notes, each one feeling an intense sense of relief at having survived. Roland even began to sing an old battle-hymn, his rough old voice deep and surprisingly melodious, and the others joined in, laughing at each other when they realised they didn't know the words. It was almost like a celebration.

When tiredness finally set in and they calmed down, Galbatorix spoke. 'Take no pride in what we did today,' he commanded. 'If any of you ever looks on it and says it was a good thing, or a brave thing, I will be ashamed to call myself their leader. Do not delude yourselves. What we did today was evil. It was cruel and it was bloodthirsty. We did it because it needed to be done. Nothing more. If we are going to win this war, then our enemies must fear us. Today we found something inside us that was dark, and we unleashed it. That is what will win us this war. But never forget it, and never lose sight of what we are fighting for. We are fighting for justice, and justice can be ugly to look at. But it must be done.'

The others bowed their heads. 'You're right,' said Orwyne. 'I've fought before, but… I never thought of it as something people should be proud of, and I never have taken pride in the people I've killed. But we'll only be monsters if we kill when there is no reason for it. And today we had a reason.'

Galbatorix bowed his head. 'For justice.'

'For freedom,' said Vander.

'For love,' said Strein.

'For the gods,' said Roland.

Morzan grinned. 'For beer an' women an' a clean privy to shit in.'

The others laughed.

'Well, I'm not sure if there's any beer or women in the vicinity,' said Roland. 'But I wouldn't say no to a nice piece of smoked fish, if anyone has any.'

'Some food would be wonderful right about now,' Tranah agreed.

The others, realising how hungry they were, sought out some provisions, and for a while they sat around the fire, eating and drinking, and talking.

'What d'you reckon you'll do once this is over?' Morzan asked Vander.

Vander shrugged. 'Find a place for me and Ymazu to live,' he said. 'Somewhere quiet, out in the country. We needn't be alone there, of course,' he added, smiling. 'Ymazu reckons it's time we stopped being lonely. A wife and a mate, and some children and hatchlings of our own… I don't think that would be too much to ask.'

'I ain't gonna settle down anytime soon, me,' said Morzan. 'Marriage is for pussies. Give me a few cheap tavern wenches and you won't hear me complainin'.'

Vander and Orwyn laughed, although Tranah and Strein looked rather affronted.

'What about you, sir?' said Morzan, turning to Galbatorix. 'What will you do?'

Galbatorix stifled a yawn. 'Oh, I don't know. I'd prefer a simple life. A home somewhere in a city with a hammock outside so I can sleep under the stars… that's all I'd ask for. Or maybe Shruikan and I can leave here. Go away somewhere over the sea and see what's there. Laela always said how she'd like to see what's out there. We used to wish we could go together and see, if only we didn't have so many things to do here. That can never happen now, but I can go, and Shruikan too, and we can find out for Laela.'

'Sounds kind've lonely,' said Morzan. 'Ain't you plannin' on takin' anyone else?'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'What can I say? I'm a solitary man, Morzan. Always have been.'

'But don't you want a family?' said Tranah.

'I don't know. I did used to imagine what it would be like to be a father… but now I know it'll never happen.'

'How?' said Roland.

'Call it a hunch,' said Galbatorix.

'So you have no-one special, then?' said Roland. 'No beloved to call your own?'

Galbatorix looked furtive. 'Maybe.'

Tranah tittered, which was most unlike her. 'A secret love? That's so _beautiful_.'

'That's so stupid, for a morelike,' Morzan opined. He nudged Galbatorix heavily in the ribs. 'C'mon, spill it. Who is she?'

'She's very beautiful,' Galbatorix admitted. 'Beautiful, but… wild.'

'Got spirit, eh?' said Morzan.

'She's a warrior,' said Galbatorix. 'A fighter. She's as fierce as a dragon. I met her while I was in hiding, and she… well, let's just say one thing led to another.'

'Yes, but what's her name?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix shook his head. 'That I'm not telling.'

'Yeah, all right,' said Morzan. 'But c'mon, you gotta tell us more'n that.'

'Well, what did you want to know?'

Morzan grinned and nudged him again. 'Well, is she a good lay or what?'

The others let out cries of shock at this, but there were plenty of laughs too.

'Morzan!' Roland exclaimed, aghast. 'There are _women_ present!'

Galbatorix laughed in spite of himself. 'She bites,' he said, which prompted fresh gales of laughter from the others.

'Damn,' said Morzan, much impressed. 'Where _I_ can find her?'

'She went away over the sea,' said Galbatorix.

Silence fell.

'Ah,' Roland said knowingly. 'That explains your interest in leaving the country, I suspect.'

'She promised she'd come back,' said Galbatorix, more fiercely than he'd intended.

'I've no doubt she will some day, sir,' Roland said in his most grandfatherly tone.

Galbatorix didn't miss the pitying looks he was getting from the others. 'She will,' he muttered.

'I suggest we get some sleep now,' Roland said loudly. 'That goes for everyone.'

The others nodded and mumbled, some yawning. The good cheer had gone out of the atmosphere, and now tiredness and a kind of faint despair had settled in, as if they were only now allowing themselves to think about what had happened.

They wandered off separately to find a place to sleep, only half-heartedly listening to Galbatorix's instruction about how they should stay within earshot.

Kaelyn, however, couldn't sleep. She found a spot by a pool and sat there, hugging her knees and staring vaguely at the water. Sartago was beside her as always, and she could sense his own fatigue. _'You should get some rest,'_ the grey dragon suggested gently.

Kaelyn lay down, curling up against his flank, and tried to sleep. But she couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Osilon again. Saw the dying elves and the burning houses. Heard the screams.

She shuddered and sat up sharply, not sure if she had slept. She realised that she was covered in sweat, and wiped it away from her face, trying to make herself breathe calmly. But she couldn't. _'Oh gods, Sartago… what did we do?'_

Sartago stirred beside her. _'We fought,'_ he said. _'Isn't that what you wanted?'_

'_Yes, but… I didn't know it would be like that. I didn't know.'_ She shuddered, fighting back tears. _'What did I do, Sartago?'_

'_You were a warrior, Kaelyn,'_ said Sartago. _'A warrior fights.'_

'_But Galbatorix didn't say…'_

'_Yes he did. He told you hundreds of times. It was your choice, Kaelyn. And what is it that you want?'_

'_I don't know. I just don't…' _

'_Well, do you still want to be a warrior? Because you don't have to if you don't want to.'_

Kaelyn said nothing for a long time. _'No,'_ she said at last. _'I'll be a warrior. I'll _make_ myself be strong. There's no other choice.' _

On the next day when they gathered together again, the first thing to do was discuss their next move. As expected, Galbatorix already had something in mind.

'We're going to split up,' he said. 'I don't like it, but we simply can't afford to stay in a big group like this. If we're discovered and there's an attack on us, we could all be killed or captured. But in smaller groups, we'll be harder to find. What do you think?'

'A sensible move,' said Roland. 'But we'll need some way to stay in touch, and every group will need to have a definite plan.'

'Yes. There should be at least one senior rider to each group as well. We need to be able to act independently of each other; I can't be everywhere. But here's my idea. After we split up and go our separate ways, each group will choose a permanent base of some sort – somewhere they'll return to regularly. Meanwhile I – and anyone who stays with me – will stay on the move. We'll check in on each group every now and then, to exchange news and give orders. But we'll need to plan it carefully, again. Everyone has to be clear on what they're supposed to be doing and where they'll be going.'

'Tranah and I know how to work together,' Strien volunteered. 'We'll be one group.'

'And Roland and I are a natural pair,' said Orwyne.

'I'll go with you, if I may,' said Vander, to Roland.

'Certainly,' said Roland.

'I'm stayin' with you,' said Morzan, addressing Galbatorix.

Galbatorix nodded. 'Morzan comes with me. Kaelyn, Gern, Tuomas… you can choose which group you want to go with.'

'I'll go with Tranah,' said Tuomas.

'I'm staying with you,' said Kaelyn.

'I will too,' said Gern. 'If that's okay.'

'Of course it is,' said Galbatorix. 'I would've preferred a smaller group, but I'll feel better if I can keep an eye on you.'

In the end, it was decided that Roland, Orwyne and Vander would go to the Beors and lay low for a while, Tranah, Strein and Tuomas would stay in Du Weldenvarden, and Galbatorix's group would travel between the two, using the Spine as cover.

They planned several future attacks and other activities to be carried out by the separate groups; Roland and Orwyne would keep an eye on Dras-Leona and attack any riders they found in the vicinity, and Tranah and Strein would carry out raids on the elvish settlements in Du Weldenvarden. Galbatorix meanwhile would try and recruit more riders to help them and do what they could to neutralise the wild dragons, who, if they were unleashed, could cause massive damage.

Once all had been decided, the Forsworn wished each other good luck and went their separate ways.

'As long as we keep our heads and don't lose courage, we'll survive,' Galbatorix said. 'I know I can rely on all of you. But we must be careful. After Osilon, our enemies will begin to see just how dangerous we really are. Soon they'll strike back. I don't know how they'll do it, but they won't be on the defensive forever.'

They glanced at each other, unable to hide their nervousness. They knew he was right. Sooner or later their winning streak would come to an end. Sooner or later, their luck would run out.

And, a few months after the massacre at Osilon, it did.

Kaelyn and Gern quickly adapted to their new life spent on the move. Now that they had been trained after a fashion, Galbatorix treated them as if they were fully qualified riders who knew how to handle themselves, and did not patronise them because of their youth and inexperience, and made it clear that he expected Morzan to do the same.

At first there was not much fighting involved, as they travelled along the Spine and reaquainted themselves with what was going on in the South. From time to time Galbatorix or Morzan would sneak into some city to gather information – risky, but worth it. At one point Morzan was recognised and came close to being captured, but a well-timed appearance by Idün got him to safety. He brought the news that word of the attack at Osilon had spread far and wide.

'And they're very, very scared now,' he added. 'Everyone knows how powerful elves are supposed to be. Some idiots talks about 'em like they was some kinda gods. But we proved 'em wrong, didn't we? They're scared of you now, sir. But people're sayin' – ordinary people, I mean… well, they believe you're doin' it for them. To stop the elves lording it over us humans. I mean, you haven't done that to any _human_ cities, have you? I think they're getting what this is all about. They won't let elves into Teirm any more. One of 'em tried it and got the sap beaten out of him. Some people won't even use elvish-made stuff any more.'

'It sounds like they're ready to rebel,' said Galbatorix.

'Definitely. Just step forward and show yourself to 'em, and they'll run straight to you.'

'But there has to be something more than that,' said Galbatorix, frowning. 'They need a signal. Something to show them it's time to act. Something…'

'You'll think of something, sir,' said Morzan.

But it was not long before there were other, far more pressing things to worry about. Two days later, Galbatorix contacted Durza again. When he went to the others to share what he had learned, he was grim-faced.

'There's bad news,' he said. 'From Gil'ead.'

'What is it, sir?' said Gern.

Galbatorix sighed and sat down, then looked at Kaelyn. 'Kaelyn, they've arrested your parents.'

Kaelyn went pale. 'What? Why?'

'I don't know, maybe they think they know something. Either way… they're being held at the castle. Kaelyn, try and scry them. You're the only one here who's seen them before.'

Kaelyn scooped some water out of the stream they were camped by, and cast the spell as well as she could. She was still inexperienced with it; it took several tries before the water went dark. She concentrated on her parents, willing the water to show her where they were. And, little by little, an image formed. She saw them sitting huddled together in some anonymous dark place. Her mother was crying while her father tried to comfort her. They appeared to be unhurt… but as Kaelyn tried desperately to make the vision stay where it was her distress got the better of her and it faded away. She swore and slammed her fist into the ground.

'Calm down,' said Galbatorix. 'At least we know they're all right. Try again later and see if you can find out anything more, all right?'

Kaelyn stood up. 'I have to go to them.'

'No.' The answer was flat and firm, and grimly inevitable. 'That's exactly what they'll expect you to do.'

Kaelyn fought down her rage. 'But if I don't, what'll happen to them then?'

'I don't know, Kaelyn. But panicking won't help them.'

Kaelyn spent the rest of that day in agonies. Part of it was guilt. If anything happened to her parents, it would be her fault. She had never considered that becoming a rebel could bring them in danger, but now it had happened she berated herself for being so short-sighted. But another part of it was anger, and not just toward the riders who had imprisoned them. She was angry with Galbatorix as well. She kept expecting him to do something, to stand up and announce that they were going to Gil'ead to rescue her parents, but he didn't. He stayed in the camp, saying nothing, apparently deep in thought, and ignored all attempts to converse with him. When evening came, he still hadn't acted, and broke his silence only to advise them to get some sleep.

Kaelyn retreated to a spot out of sight of the others, where Sartago was waiting for her in gloomy silence. She sat down beside him, wanting to talk to him, but unable to think of anything to say. Her insides were churning. Finally, unable to go on doing nothing, she poured some water into a little hollow in the ground and spread her hand over it. 'Draumr kópa.'

The water went dark, and she concentrated as hard as she could.

This time, the magic worked more quickly. The darkness opened up into a picture of her parents. This time, however, they were not alone. They were being confronted by someone she recognised all too well from her time in Ilirea – Menulis the elder. The image had no sound, but she could see the old elf looming over her parents, his dark eyes fixed on them as he mouthed some words. She knew what they had to be. _Where is she? Tell us where she is. _

Her father shook his head vehemently and said something in return, and Kaelyn saw Menulis' anger. The elf spoke again, and her father suddenly started upright, raising his hand in a threatening gesture. Immediately, shadowy figures fell upon him from both sides, and she saw him fall, mouth open in a cry of pain as blows rained down on him.

Kaelyn couldn't bear to watch any more. She let the vision fade, and stood up quickly. Saying nothing at all, she picked up her sword and began to pack her bag. Sartago knew what she was thinking. He growled and shifted, but said nothing and let her hang her bags on the saddle.

As she was getting on the grey dragon's back, there was a noise behind her and she turned to see Gern coming, with Leahdorus behind him. He saw what she was doing and stopped dead. 'Kaelyn? What are you doing?'

Kaelyn scowled and heaved herself into the saddle. 'I'm going to get my parents out of there,' she said.

Gern ran to her. 'Kaelyn, no! That's insane; you can't go on your own.'

Kaelyn began doing up the leg-straps. 'Why not? I'm a rider. I've finished my training. If Galbatorix isn't going to do anything, then I will.'

'But-,'

'Don't you understand?' said Kaelyn, fixing him with a furious stare. 'It's my fault! They're beating my father in a dungeon right now, and it's because of me. I'm going to set them free, and you can't stop me.' Before Gern could say another word, Sartago took off, flying up and away as fast as he could go.

Gern hesitated for a long, agonising moment. _'She's mad!'_ he exclaimed.

'_Hurry up,'_ Leahdorus snapped, thumping him with her snout. _'We've got to go after them. Now!'_

Her words galvanised Gern into action. He climbed into the saddle as fast as he could go, and the orange dragon flew off.


	39. A Traitor's Heart

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A Traitor's Heart

It was not until the following morning that Galbatorix and Morzan realised the two junior riders were gone. They were camped at the edge of Du Weldenvarden, not far from the shore of the lake known as Isenstar, and Galbatorix, rising early as his habit was, went to wake Kaelyn, only to find the clearing she had claimed as her own deserted. He ran back to the main campsite, where Morzan was splashing his face to wake himself up.

'Morzan, where's Kaelyn?'

Morzan wiped his face on his sleeve. 'Eh? Over that way somewhere, I think.'

'I just came from there. She's not there. Sartago's not there either.'

'Maybe they're with Gern.'

But Gern, too, was absent. He had left his bags behind, but both he and Leahdorus were gone. Galbatorix swore and climbed a tree in order to survey the landscape. A few moments later he slid down it again, landing neatly at its base.

'I saw them over the lake,' he reported. 'They're coming back this way.'

'What, from Gil'ead?' said Morzan, reaching for Zar'roc.

'Yes. We'd better get ready; someone might be following them.' Galbatorix put out the fire and hastily packed a few items back into his bag, gesturing at Morzan to do the same. They loaded up the dragons and hid themselves among the trees, waiting with their eyes on the sky.

A few tense minutes later, Leahdorus and Sartago landed in the clearing and Galbatorix ran to meet them, feeling a horrible coldness in his stomach. Something was wrong.

There were two people on Sartago's back, and neither of them were Kaelyn.

Gern jumped down from Leahdorus and ran toward Galbatorix. 'Master! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I swear it wasn't my fault-,'

'What's going on?' Galbatorix demanded sharply. 'Who are these people? Where's Kaelyn?'

Gern was nearly in tears. 'She just ran off. I tried to stop her but she wouldn't listen…'

'What happened? Is anyone after you?'

'I don't think so,' said Gern. 'But we went to Gil'ead, and-,'

'And what? Calm down, Gern, and just tell me.'

'They've got Kaelyn, sir,' said Gern, slumping down with his head in his hands. He was trembling with fright.

Galbatorix swore. 'Gods_dammit._ How did it happen?'

The two people managed to get down from Sartago's back, landing awkwardly but helping each other up and then walking toward Galbatorix, slowly and hesitantly. Sartago's stance was low. His wings hung loosely at his sides and his tail twitched compulsively. Then, quite suddenly, he raised his head to the sky and howled. Leahdorus charged at the grey dragon, hitting him in the chest, and pinned him down after a brief struggle, forcing him to be silent.

Galbatorix turned to meet the two people Gern had brought with him. They were a middle-aged couple, both ragged and exhausted, with dark rings around their eyes. He didn't need to ask who they were. The woman had light brown hair and a familiar small, narrow-shouldered build, and the man's eyes were light grey.

The two of them hesitated, then knelt before him. 'My Lord,' the man breathed.

'Get up,' Galbatorix told them impatiently. 'You're Kaelyn's parents, aren't you?'

'That's right, my Lord,' said the woman. 'And you're…?'

'Yes, that's right, I'm Galbatorix Taranisäii. Gern!' he pointed at the sobbing boy, his voice taking on a hard, commanding tone that did not invite any argument. 'You'll tell me what happened. _Now.'_

Gern stood up. 'I'm s-sorry, Master. I just…'

'Calm down,' Galbatorix said more kindly. 'Just tell me what happened. Where's Kaelyn?'

'Sh-she wanted to go to Gil'ead, sir. To rescue her parents,' said Gern, shuddering. 'I found her just as she was leaving. She'd scryed them again and knew they were being hurt, so she just… I told her not to do it, but Sartago just flew off, and Lee and I went after them. There was no _time_.'

'And she led you to Gil'ead.'

'Yes, sir. She was… it was amazing, sir, what she did. We went into the city at dawn. Very quiet. Left the dragons outside so no-one'd see us. She got us to the castle and used magic to break down the wall, and we got her parents out. We would've gotten away, too; the guards had run off. But then…'

'Menulis is there, isn't he?' said Galbatorix, grim-faced.

'Yes, sir. And Kaelyn… she – she-,'

'What?'

'She told us to run,' Kaelyn's father interrupted. 'Not just told. _Ordered._ And Gern got us out of the city, and she…'

'She fought Menulis,' said Gern. 'She _attacked_ him. But she lost. I saw her fall over; he'd paralysed her with magic. And then the guards just carried her away and Menulis fixed the wall with magic. And we had to run. We got to the dragons, and Sartago… I nearly had to hurt him to stop him going back for her, and – and – what're we going to _do,_ sir?'

Morzan had drawn his sword. 'What d'you mean what're we gonna do?' he snarled. 'I reckon you already know. We're goin' in. We're gonna go into Gil'ead and we're gonna kill the bastards and get her out of there.'

'No, Morzan,' said Galbatorix. 'Stop.'

Morzan bared his teeth. It looked like he was about to explode in a temper, but he managed to restrain himself.

Galbatorix had gone cold and quiet. 'We can't just go in there and attack. We're not strong enough. There are three other riders there with Menulis. He's not stupid; he won't risk being caught on his own. And if we attack, they'll use Kaelyn against us. As a hostage. If we give them an excuse to do it, they'll kill her.'

'Well what're we going to do, then?' said Morzan, reluctantly sheathing Zar'roc.

'We need more help,' said Galbatorix. 'We're going to go and join Tranah. She can help us plan something, and she's not too far away at the moment. Only a few hour's flight, if she's still near Osilon.' He pointed at Kaelyn's parents. 'And what about you?'

'We don't want to be a bother, sir,' said Kaelyn's father. 'But…'

'Kaelyn said to come to you,' his wife put in. 'She said you'd protect us.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'It's my fault you were arrested, so it's my duty to protect you. You'll come with us. Go back to Sartago; he's strong enough to carry you that far.'

The flight to Tranah's camp passed quickly and miserably. They found the three riders camped at the base of a mountain, and the reunion was not a happy one.

Tranah, Strein and Tuomas ran to meet them. 'Good to see you, sir!' Tranah said immediately. She was looking a little tired and was bruised about the face, but was as cheerful and businesslike as usual. 'What's wrong?' she added, seeing his expression.

'Kaelyn's been captured,' said Galbatorix. 'She's being held in Gil'ead.'

Tranah and Strein both cursed. Tuomas looked horrified.

'Oh gods no,' said Tranah. 'What are we going to do, sir?'

'I'm not sure yet,' said Galbatorix. 'But we couldn't stay where we were. If they'd forced Kaelyn to tell them… it's just lucky she doesn't know where you or Roland are. What do you suggest, Tranah?'

Tranah looked gloomy. 'How many are there in Gil'ead?'

'Four. Elder Menulis and three others. Two elves and a human.'

'Oh, godsdammit…'

'Yes. And you know what'll happen if we attack. They'll threaten to kill Kaelyn unless we leave or surrender. And if we _don't…'_

Sartago, who had been crouched miserably by the foot of the mountain, suddenly let out a cry of pain. They turned to look, and saw him cowering against the rock, his wings trembling and his face becoming a blank snarl of fear.

Kaelyn's father spoke out. 'Please, my Lord,' he said. 'Please save our daughter.' His wife took hold of his hand, and both of them looked pleadingly at Galbatorix.

Galbatorix looked back, unreadable. 'I didn't ask you your names.'

'I'm Hugh,' said Kaelyn's father.

'And I'm Rikash,' her mother added. 'My Lord, I'm begging you. Save Kaelyn.'

'I'll do what I can,' Galbatorix promised. 'I just… need to think.'

Not much more was said for some time. They sat around the camp in gloomy silence, each one busy with his or her own thoughts. Galbatorix paced back and forth, radiating a kind of furious energy, tugging absent-mindedly at his beard. Hugh and Rikash sat huddled together and tried to comfort each other, and Tuomas and Gern were talking in low voices as they did their best to look after Sartago, who had curled himself up into a ball and was whimpering softly, so paralysed by fear and worry that his eyes were glazed. It was nearly noon when Morzan broke the silence. 'What's that?' he said, pointing.

Galbatorix turned to look, and saw a large black bird perched on a tree-branch not far away from him. It looked like a perfectly ordinary raven, but then he saw the patch of silver feathers on its chest. There was a note tied to its leg. He held out an arm toward it and called it in the ancient language. It came to him, landing on his arm and holding out its leg so he could untie the note, then shuffled onto his shoulder and waited while he unfurled it.

The note was on a wafer-thin piece of paper that had been coated with wax to waterproof it. He recognised the handwriting straight away. 'Menulis,' he muttered.

What the note said was stark and simple.

_To the Betrayer,_

_We have your apprentice, Kaelyn Rikashdaughter, in our custody at Gil'ead. _

_Come to the front of the castle at Gil'ead today at sunset and give yourself up, or she will die the traitor's death. _

_There is to be no negotiation. Come alone and surrender peacefully. At the slightest sign of anything suspicious, the prisoner will be killed on the spot. If you do not come, she will also die. However, if you give yourself up to us, she will be released unharmed at once._

_For Justice._

_Elder Menulis of Osilon_

Galbatorix read the note several times. He stood there, utterly still and silent, holding it in his hands. His expression was unreadable.

Morzan plucked up courage and came closer. 'What's it say, sir?'

Galbatorix wordlessly handed the note to him. Morzan read it aloud for the benefit of the others. Their faces fell.

'Oh dear gods no,' Tranah whispered. 'How _could_ they?'

'It's not a lie or a trick,' said Morzan. 'It's written in the ancient language.'

Galbatorix still hadn't moved. The raven shifted uneasily on its perch, and then, so suddenly it took them all by surprise, Galbatorix snatched the creature off his shoulder. He let out an unearthly scream of fury and ripped the unfortunate bird's wing off with his bare hands, then hurled it aside. It fluttered pathetically on the ground for a moment or two, until Shruikan snapped it up.

'_GODS DAMN THEM!'_ Galbatorix roared, his whole face contorted. His fists were clenched, his eyes burned, his teeth bared. For a moment it looked as if he were going to explode, but then he fell to his knees and pounded the ground with his fists, shouting incoherently. 'Gods damn them gods damn them, godsdamned cowards, I will _not_ let them get me in their clutches again. _Cau dy wyneb a Ffwcio dy erwyrth! Cay dy geg a dos i ffwcio dy gath i fyny'r pen ol!_'

It was the first time any of them had seen him really lose his temper. None of them dared interfere; they waited in shocked silence until he finally calmed down and stood up. Shruikan was growling, evidently affected by his partner's anger; they could see his big talons digging into the ground, making huge furrows in the dirt. Galbatorix, however, seemed slightly embarrassed by his outburst; he breathed deeply and brushed the leaf-litter off his robe. He looked about to speak, but before he had done so, Sartago screamed.

The grey dragon uncurled and began to thrash wildly, his mouth opening to emit a horrible screeching, howling cry. Tuomas and Gern dived out of the way, only narrowly avoiding Sartago's flailing claws. Hugh and Rikash started up, terrified, and were hustled out of the way by Tranah and Strein. Sartago started up suddenly, spreading his wings in readiness to fly away. Neither Ithír nor Leahdorus dared go any closer to him, but Idün shoved them out of the way and held the smaller dragon down, forcibly restraining him. He fought back, striking out wildly at her and roaring, teeth bared. Idün made no attempt to hit back at him, and simply turned her head away and took the blows on her shoulder. Eventually Sartago subsided and fell down on his side, twitching and jerking.

'What's happening?' Rikash exclaimed.

Galbatorix's jaw tightened. 'They're hurting Kaelyn.'

Rikash watched Sartago as he continued to writhe in pain. Hugh put his arm around her and she started to sob into his chest.

'Sir, we've got to do something,' said Tranah, daring to face her leader. 'And fast.'

'But what?' Morzan interrupted. 'You heard what the note said. They got us by the short an' curlies. Can't attack, can't surrender.'

'There's only one thing we _can_ do,' said Tranah. 'Nothing.'

They stared at her.

'Are you insane?' Morzan demanded. 'What d'you mean "nothing"? You mean we just let her _die?'_

'Yes,' Tranah said harshly. 'There's no other option. If we attack, she dies. There's no time to plan anything else; they made sure of that.'

'No!' said Gern. 'No, you can't. We can't. It's just…'

'_Do_ something, sir!' said Tuomas, appealing to Galbatorix. 'Please, you've got to-,'

'Leave me,' said Galbatorix. He stared coldly at them all. '_Now_.'

Tranah nodded. 'Yes, sir.' She gestured at the others to follow her, and quietly left the campsite. The others went, in ones and twos, some casting hopeful glances back at Galbatorix.

Once they were gone, and the dragons with them, Galbatorix sat down, his head in his hands. He hadn't missed the looks they had given him. Even now, they clung to the belief that he had all the answers, that he would somehow come up with a miraculous last-minute solution out of thin air. Even now, they trusted him. It made him want to scream at his own impotence. Because, even as he searched desperately through his mind for an answer, he knew that there wasn't one. No matter which way he turned, it always came back down to the same thing. Kaelyn was doomed.

As the day dragged on and noon came and went, the others waited in tense silence. Morzan was pacing back and forth, fists clenched. The others avoided speaking to him; the big rider looked like he was spoiling for a fight. Tranah and Strein were trying to console Kaelyn's parents. Gern was sitting a little way away, with Leahdorus beside him, white-faced and silent.

'It's all right,' Tuomas kept saying. 'He'll think of something. He can do anything.'

Morzan suddenly stopped pacing and stared at him. For a moment it looked like he was going to shout at him, but then he nodded jerkily and said; 'Yeh. You're right, kid. He can do it. He can do it.'

Sartago had continued to convulse from time to time, but now he had subsided and was lying still, whimpering softly. Now he raised his head and peered vacantly at something.

Morzan followed his gaze. 'He's back,' he said.

Galbatorix walked into the clearing where they had waited for him. He moved slowly and without his usual grace, and his face was pale.

The others looked at him, bewildered. He'd decorated his hair with feathers and silver beads, and his face was painted with the dark elvish signs of war. On his forehead was the triple-spiral, and there was an odd, faraway look in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Shruikan was following him, and he walked to the centre of the clearing and there came to a halt. The others looked at him expectantly, saying nothing.

'I have… made a decision,' said Galbatorix, his voice flat and distant. 'I will…' he looked at Hugh and Rikash. 'I will go and rescue your daughter,' he told them.

'How, sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix clasped his hands together as if in supplication. 'There's only one way to do it,' he said. 'I'm going to Gil'ead. Alone.'

Tranah, Morzan and Strein stood up sharply.

'No, sir,' said Tranah. 'Absolutely not. I won't allow it.'

'She's right, sir,' said Morzan. 'That's madness.'

'Don't question me,' Galbatorix snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. 'I'm in charge here. There are no other options. I'll only make it to Gil'ead in time if I leave immediately. The rest of you will stay here.'

'But sir, they'll kill you!' Strein cried.

Galbatorix sighed, his eyes seeming to look through her rather than at her. 'If that's the only way to save Kaelyn, so be it.'

Tuomas and Gern were horror-struck. 'You can't do that, sir!' said Gern. 'You can't!'

'I can and I will,' said Galbatorix.

Morzan grabbed hold of his arm. 'No, sir. For the love of gods, no. You can't just throw your life away like this. Not after all we've been through.'

Galbatorix pulled away from him. 'Morzan, please. Don't make this any harder than it has to be. Listen to me…' he looked around at the others, addressing them all. 'Kaelyn swore herself to me. She entrusted herself to me, and it's my responsibility to protect her, no matter what the cost. I would do the same for any of you. If a life must be sacrificed, then it will be mine. I have no right to let any of you die if I have a chance to save you. I've seen too many people I cared about die in my place. I won't let that happen again. Now, here are your orders-,'

'Sir, you can't,' Tranah said again. She was nearly in tears. 'Please, don't do it. We _need_ you. Without you-,'

'You will stay here,' said Galbatorix, ignoring her. 'Don't leave this place. I will send Kaelyn here to join you. Once she's with you, you'll leave here. Take an indirect route, travel at night. The usual methods. Get to the Beors and make contact with Roland. He'll be in charge from then on. But tell him I said he's to listen to all of you equally and take your advice. Whoever leads the Forsworn is the first among equals, not a despot. Roland will know what to do. Listen to him. Especially you, Morzan.'

'_No_,' Morzan rasped. His fists were clenched. 'I'll never follow anyone but you.'

'Then as my follower, do as I tell you,' said Galbatorix. He paused, then took something from around his neck and gave it to his friend. 'Here. If… if anyone ever comes looking for me… give this to her. You'll know her if you meet her.'

Morzan's big hand closed around the iron dragon amulet. 'I understand, sir,' he said huskily.

Galbatorix glanced at the sky. 'Now I have to go.' He turned to Shruikan and began to climb onto his back.

The others ran at him, unable to stop themselves.

'No, sir! Stop! There's got to be another way-,'

'Please, Galbatorix, _please_. We can't do this without you.'

Galbatorix secured himself in the saddle and looked down at their pale, desperate faces. 'Don't worry about me,' he said. 'I'll… be all right. Just fight on. Always fight on. Never give in. Never let them win. Set Alagaësia free for me.'

'We will, sir,' said Tranah. 'I swear.'

Morzan's anger had died away and been replaced with a terrible helplessness. 'I won't forget this, sir,' he promised. 'I'll never… I'll never…' he bowed his head, his great arms and powerful shoulders hanging heavy and useless. 'I'll make them pay for it. For what they did to you. I'll make them pay a hundred times. I swear.'

Galbatorix looked sadly at him. 'I'm sorry, Morzan. I'm sorry to all of you. But…' he glanced up at the sky again. 'Perhaps the world will be better off without me.'

There was no more time. Shruikan turned and walked away from the clearing, his head low. Once he was well away from them, the black dragon took to the air with a weary flick of his wings, and all they could do was stand and watch him go.

Sartago struggled to his feet and ran after Shruikan, his wings beating clumsily. The other dragons did not try and stop him, and he took off and drew level with him, following him away from Du Weldenvarden and back to Gil'ead as fast as he could go.

The open space in front of the castle at Gil'ead was thronged. Hundreds of people had turned out to see what was going to happen that day, and no wonder.

A large wooden platform had been set up just outside the castle gates, and in the centre of it was the gallows. The noose had already been tied and was hanging at head-height, above a spot on the platform where there was a trapdoor. Not far away from that was a wooden rack with manacles fastened to it, ready to hold the victim still for the disembowelling that would follow. A pair of executioners were standing ready, and the prisoner had already been brought out and was being held by a group of guards, her hands shackled together.

Menulis and his three fellow riders were standing on the platform in a neat row, their swords shining in the sun. They looked calm, but there was tension in the glances they cast at each other, and occasionally one of them would shift restlessly, on the alert for any sign of danger.

Kaelyn was pale and red-eyed, standing a little hunched from the weight of her chains, but she was forcing herself to stay calm and still and not betray any sign of fear. Her clothes were torn, and she winced when she moved, as if she were still feeling the effects of some injury that was not outwardly visible.

The crowd was less settled. Most of the eyes were on Kaelyn, and many of the voices that could be heard from the spectators sounded angry. No-one, however, dared go too close to the platform. They still feared the power of riders.

Menulis and his three companions – the elves Sadron and Arasynya and the human Perrin – paid little attention to the crowd, or to Kaelyn. Their eyes were on the sky, and the four of them silently watched as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon. They could see it clearly over the surface of the lake, and when the great orb's lower edge finally touched the earth, Menulis sighed. Just once, quietly, but no-one missed it. The old elf glanced at his three underlings, and they looked back, inscrutable.

The crowd knew perfectly well what they were waiting for. The news had been leaked from the castle, and that was another reason why they were willing to wait.

Still, no-one moved.

When the sun was halfway down, and the first of the stars had begun to come out, Menulis finally spoke. 'Bring her forward,' he said, addressing Kaelyn's guards.

They obeyed, dragging her to the front of the platform where everyone could see her. Menulis came forward and began to speak. 'Well,' he said to Kaelyn. 'It seems that your beloved leader is not coming. Evidently he is too much a coward to care for your fate. No doubt he is hiding somewhere as we speak, plotting more murders while his so-called friend faces death because of his lies.'

Kaelyn spat at him. 'Don't you dare talk about him like that,' she said, her voice carrying over the heads of the crowd. 'You godsdamned coward, you locked up my parents to lure me here so you could try and force him to let you kill him. He's going to kill you one day. You can't escape from him. He'll find you no matter where you go, and he'll avenge me.'

Menulis slapped her. 'Silence, _human_,' he snarled, heedless of the angry mutters this provoked from the crowd. 'Don't you dare defile my ears with your threats. You are a traitor and a murderer. Worse, you swore your allegiance to the Great Betrayer. You would not listen to reason, and so you must suffer the punishment due to traitors.'

Kaelyn's head jerked back from the force of the blow, but she recovered with surprising resilience. 'You betrayed him first!' she shouted. 'You murdered his dragon. He told me everything. You tried to kill him because he wasn't an elf. You're a tyrant.'

'That is a lie!' Menulis thundered, this time unable to ignore the shouts of assent from the crowd. 'The Betrayer is insane. He has corrupted you with his lies, and now you will die because of him, and he will not save you.' He spoke to the guards. 'Take her to the gallows now and let the punishment take place.'

The guards started to drag Kaelyn away toward the waiting noose. She went struggling and kicking. _'No!'_

Menulis looked on grimly, and then realised that something had changed.

He paused, not quite certain of what it was.

The crowd had gone silent.

Menulis turned to look out over the rows of faces, confused. The guards too had stopped. And that was when he saw the movement in the crowd. People were moving outwards, pushing against each other to get out of the way, to let a solitary figure walk through.

The figure was tall and slim, clad in a long black robe with a fur-lined hood hiding the face. But they could all see the long silver-hilted sword slung on its back.

The robed figure walked straight toward the platform, reached it, and then pushed back its hood.

'Here is thy Great Betrayer, Menulis.'

Menulis froze. '_You!'_

Galbatorix smiled coldly. 'Why, were you expecting someone else?'

Menulis snapped out of his shock. 'Move her back,' he told the guards. 'Now!'

Kaelyn was taken back to the group of guards at the back of the platform, who had a hard struggle restraining her. She was trying desperately to get at Galbatorix, shouting his name all the while.

Menulis took a few steps back from the edge of the platform, his eyes fixed warily on Galbatorix. 'Are you alone?' he asked in the ancient language.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix, using the same tongue. He paused, then climbed up onto the platform.

'Galbatorix, no!' Kaelyn cried. 'Run! Get away! They'll kill you!'

Galbatorix ignored her. He drew White Violence, slowly and deliberately, and pointed it at Menulis.

Then he threw it down onto the platform. He held up his hands and spoke slowly and clearly in the ancient language. 'If you release Kaelyn now and let her leave unharmed and without being followed, I will give myself up. I will not try and fight or flee.'

'_No!'_ Kaelyn screamed.

Menulis hesitated. 'Agreed,' he said. He turned to the guards. 'Release her.'

The guards let go of Kaelyn, and she ran to Galbatorix and threw herself into his arms. He held onto her, murmuring. 'It's all right, Kaelyn. You're safe now.'

'I thought you wouldn't come,' Kaelyn sobbed. 'I thought…'

Galbatorix held her close, and whispered in her ear. 'Listen. Sartago is waiting for you by the lake. Go to him. He'll take you to the others. Your parents are there. They're safe. Look for me in the shadows, Kaelyn. You'll find me if you look.'

As he let go of her, he realised there was a patch of wetness on the back of her tunic. It was blood. He stared at Menulis, horror-struck. 'How _could _you?' he demanded, his voice loud so that all could hear it. 'You coward! How could you do that to her? She's hardly more than a child, for gods' sakes, and you had her _whipped? _What were you trying to prove?'

Menulis ignored him. He nodded to the guards. 'Take him.'

They came at once, taking hold of his shoulders and dragging Kaelyn away from him. One of them removed her chains, and brought them to Menulis, who said; 'Let her leave.'

Kaelyn struggled wildly against the guards, reaching toward Galbatorix. 'No! No, please! Let him go! Let him go, you monsters! Galbatorix! No!'

But there was nothing she could do. One of the guards grabbed hold of his arms and snapped the manacles closed around his wrists. They had him now and they would not let him go.

Galbatorix looked straight at her. 'Kaelyn, go,' he shouted. 'Run! Get away!'

'I won't leave you!' Kaelyn cried.

Galbatorix reached toward her, trying to comfort her. 'It's all right,' he said. 'Go. I'll be fine-,' his voice abrubtly broke away into a cry of pain, as a guard brutally struck him in the face. He tried to shove them off him, but they pinned his arms and began to hit him, raining down blows on his chest, face and stomach. He made no attempt to hit back at them, but continued to shout; 'Run, Kaelyn, run! Please run!'

Kaelyn ran toward him, trying desperately to reach him, but Menulis grabbed her by the collar and hauled her away. 'Go,' he snapped, shoving her toward the edge of the platform. 'The half-breed has given up his life to save yours, so honour that and save yourself.'

Kaelyn had no choice. She ran. The crowd did not try and stop her. In fact, several of them helped her up when she fell over. When she was at the edge of the houses, she stopped and looked back. She saw them drag Galbatorix to the gallows and put the noose around his neck, pulling it tight, and saw Menulis come to the front of the platform in order to read the official notice of execution.

'Arren Cardockson of Teirm,' the elf began. 'You are hereby sentenced to-,'

'Who's Arren Cardockson?' Galbatorix interrupted.

'You are,' Menulis said coldly. 'Kindly refrain from wasting my time, half-breed scum.'

Galbatorix laughed. 'Arren Cardockson is _dead,_ you old fool. Didn't you know that? He died years ago.'

Menulis looked irritable. 'Indeed? Then who am I addressing right now, may I ask?'

Galbatorix straightened up proudly, ignoring the guards holding him still. 'I am Galbatorix Taranisäii,' he said. 'If I'm going to die today, I'll do it under my real name.'

'Very well,' said Menulis. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii of Teirm, formerly of the Riders, you are hereby sentenced to the traitor's death for the crimes of rape, high treason, abuse of power, absconding from your duties, resisting arrest, the destruction of records, theft of valuable items, several counts of murder, and acts of terrorism against this country and against the Council of Elders too numerous to list here. You will now be hung, drawn and quartered as the law dictates you must be. Have you anything to say before the sentence is carried out?' He paused a moment, and then said; 'Why do this? I don't understand. How could you throw your life away like this?'

Galbatorix gave him an incredulous look. 'Don't you _know?'_

'I can't say I do,' Menulis said carefully.

Galbatorix shook his head. 'Don't you understand? Don't you know _anything_ about being a leader? Are you really that stupid?'

'I have been a leader in this country since before your grandparents were born,' Menulis snapped.

'Well you can't have been a very good one,' said Galbatorix, which provoked jeers from the crowd. 'So people are loyal to you. So they'd die for you. Who cares? It means absolutely nothing unless you're willing to do the same for them in return. Fight your own battles, win your own wars, and never sacrifice another life for your own benefit.'

Menulis could see the crowd agreeing, and pointed accusingly at Galbatorix. 'Don't listen to him!' he shouted. 'This is the man who ran away from a fight at Orthíad and left his followers to die in his place.' He winced and hastily lowered his arm.

'What's the matter?' Galbatorix jeered. 'Does your arm hurt? I seem to recall it was looking rather mangled last time I saw it. Strange how I managed to do that and kill two of your minions while I was running away like a coward. Pretty good, aren't I? I'll bet that smarts. The mighty Menulis can't lift his own sword any more, but he can still torture children and use them as hostages.'

This time the crowd did not mutter. This time there was a definite _growl_.

'That's what your leaders do,' said Galbatorix, addressing them. 'All this time I've been trying to liberate you all from the tyranny of the elves… where's Vrael been? Hiding away in Ilirea like the godsdamned coward he is, that's where. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone but his own race. He's an elf. What does _he _care about humans? You're just servants to him.'

'Shut him up!' Menulis hissed at the guards. Galbatorix yelped as they hit him in the stomach, and fell silent at last.

'Galbatorix Taranisäii,' said Menulis, trying to take charge of the situation again. 'Have you anything else to say before your sentence is carried out?'

There was blood leaking from the corner of Galbatorix's mouth. He seemed to have had the defiance knocked out of him, because all he did now was nod briefly and say; 'May I have a moment to say the funeral rites? I doubt anyone else will bother.'

'You may,' said Menulis.

Galbatorix bowed his head and began to mutter the ritual words to himself.

That was when the crowd began to chant. Quietly at first, starting from somewhere up the back, then louder and louder as more people joined in, adding their voices and letting the chant become deeper and stronger.

'_Rider's Bane, Rider's Bane, Rider's Bane…_'

Menulis heard it and shivered slightly. But he pretended not to notice. He waited patiently until Galbatorix fell silent.

'Are you finished?'

'Yes.'

Menulis nodded to the guards, who let go and moved away from their prisoner. One of the executioners pulled a lever. There was a clunk, and the trapdoor opened.

Kaelyn, still standing frozen at the edge of the crowd, heard the sound even over the growing chant. She saw Menulis make a sudden movement, saw the dark figure drop and the rope go taut, and then she could see no more. Screams rose from the crowd, and Kaelyn couldn't bear to watch any more. She turned and ran away as fast as she could go, barely aware of anything, even the sound of her own sobs. She ran and ran, tears streaming down her face as blood began to trickle down her back as the lash-marks reopened. Behind her she could hear shouts and screams, rising high over the rooftops, and she knew it was the sound of the crowd as they witnessed Galbatorix's awful death up there on the platform, alone and lost forever, with only the cold eyes of Menulis to watch over him.

No-one tried to stop her. She ran on, leaving the city and the horrors it contained far behind.

Sartago was waiting for her by the lake, and she ran straight to him, burying her face in his warm grey scales. He wrapped his wings around her and clumsily put a foreleg around her, pressing her to his chest. _'Oh gods, Kaelyn. Oh thank gods, thank gods, thank gods…'_

Kaelyn let his warmth encircle her, protecting her, and cried as though her heart would break. _'He's dead,'_ she said, again and again. _'He's dead, Sartago. Oh, please, gods no, please…'_

But she could not make it untrue. It was all over. Galbatorix was dead.


	40. Lost and Wandering

Chapter Forty

Lost and Wandering

Sartago flew high to avoid being spotted from the ground. When he saw Tranah's camp below, he came down to land, hitting the ground clumsily. Kaelyn half-fell off his back and stood there, white-faced and silent. Hugh and Rikash came running, and flung themselves on their daughter. Kaelyn clung to them, saying nothing, not noticing the pain in her back.

'Thank gods,' her mother kept saying. 'Oh, thank gods.'

The others were there already, reaching toward her. Tuomas and Gern took hold of her hands, both overjoyed to see she was safe, and when her parents finally let go of her she was immediately embraced by both Tranah and Strein.

Morzan strode toward her, pushing the others out of the way, and took hold of her shoulders. 'Where's Galbatorix?' he demanded. 'For the love of gods, where is he?'

Kaelyn started to sob. 'He's dead,' she said. 'He's dead.'

Morzan's grip tightened. _'No!'_ he rasped. 'Shut up!'

'He's dead,' Kaelyn said again, her voice breaking. 'They killed him.'

'Stop it!' Morzan shouted, shaking her violently by the shoulders. 'Stop it!'

The others pulled him off her, and he stumbled away, pale-faced, his fists clenched.

Kaelyn tried to go to him, but she cried out suddenly and fell to her knees. The others were there instantly, helping her up.

'Kaelyn, what's wrong?' said Tranah, unwittingly touching the wet patch on the back of her tunic.

Kaelyn cried out again, and Tranah saw the blood on her hand. 'Oh gods. Help me with her.'

They gently carried her to a spot by the fire and there laid her down, gently taking off her tunic and uttering exclamations of horror and outrage when they saw the mess that had been made of her back.

'Oh gods, what did they _do_ to you?' said Rikash, clutching her daughter's hand.

'She's been whipped,' Tranah said grimly. 'Someone get me some water.'

Kaelyn lay on her front, unmoving, crying out from time to time as Tranah gently cleaned the wounds on her back. Her friends and her parents stayed by her, unspeaking.

'All right,' said Tranah, putting aside the bloody rag she'd used. 'I can heal these up in no time, but I'm afraid there'll be some bad scarring left behind. It's been left too long.'

'I don't care,' Kaelyn mumbled.

Tranah cast the healing spell while Gern fetched a clean tunic. When the healing was done, and Kaelyn's back was covered in a cross-hatching of pink and silver scars, she sat up and put on the tunic, then huddled by the fire, her expression blank with misery.

The others did their best to comfort her.

'What happened?' Gern asked. 'Can you tell us?'

'Galbatorix is dead,' Kaelyn said in a flat voice. 'He made them let me go and take him instead, and they – they-,' her expression twisted suddenly, and she covered her face with her hands.

Tranah took hold of her shoulder. 'Did you see him die? Just tell me. Did you see him die?'

'They hanged him,' Kaelyn whispered. 'I saw it. I saw him fall, and then I ran…'

Tranah let go of her and swore. The others, hearing it, groaned softly, and the dragons lifted their heads to the sky and began to bellow, again and again.

Morzan got up, drawing his sword. 'I'm gonna kill them,' he said, striding rapidly toward Idün. 'I'm gonna kill those motherlovin' sons of-,'

But Idün wouldn't let him get on her back. She shied away from him, growling warningly. He snarled and made a grab for the saddle, but Tranah and Strein took hold of him and gently pulled him away, taking his sword from him. Morzan fought wildly for a few moments, shouting abuse at them, but then subsided, white-faced and on the verge of tears. Tranah dared to hug him, saying nothing but simply putting her arms around his shoulders. He did not shrug her off, but simply stared at the ground. 'He was my best mate,' he mumbled.

'I know, Morzan,' Tranah said softly. 'I know. And they'll pay for this. They all will.'

She stood up, looking resolutely at the others. 'Come on,' she said. 'We're leaving here.'

Kaelyn got up. 'Where're we going?' she asked.

'We're going to the Beors to meet Roland,' said Tranah. 'That's what Lord Galbatorix ordered us to do before he left.'

Kaelyn shuddered at the mention of Galbatorix's name, but went to Sartago without another word and waited by him while the others prepared to leave. It was full night by this time, and a crescent moon was rising. She watched it dully, and thought she could hear Galbatorix's voice in her mind. _The crescent moon means protection. See how it's shaped a bit like a shield? When it's in the sky, all dark elves feel safe._

Kaelyn shivered and bowed her head.

The others were soon ready to leave. Hugh and Rikash were allowed to share Aedua's saddle with Tranah, since the green dragon was big enough to carry three passengers, and once everyone had mounted up Tranah gave the signal for them to leave.

They flew away in a long straggling line, heading slowly and steadily Southwards. Kaelyn lay flat with her arms wrapped around Sartago's neck, clinging onto him as if he were her only anchor in the world. She could feel his great heart beating through his scales, and it gave her a little strength.

'_It wasn't your fault,'_ the grey dragon said eventually. _'It was theirs. You have to realise that, Kaelyn.'_

Kaelyn said nothing. She felt numb. She let the clouds and the icy air whip past her, tugging at her hair, and felt as if it were stripping away all her strength. She felt lost, and helpless in a way she had never felt in the dungeon at Gil'ead.

As the time passed and the black landscape moved on below them, all dead and featureless in the night, she started to sing under her breath. '_S mithic teárnadh do na gleanannabh, O'n tha gruaimich air na beannaibh, S ceathach dùinte mu na meallaibh, A' cur dallaidh air a léirsinn…_' it was the dark elvish lament, which Galbatorix had taught her, and although she did not know the words or the tune well she sang it again and again until it came right, and then sang it again in the common tongue, mouthing the words, too tired and weak to find the tune any more. '_It is time now to go down into the dales, for gloom is fallen on the tops and mists shroud the hills, darkening our vision. I cannot smile. Not before, less now. I cannot…_ _A' cur dallaidh air a léirsinn_…'

'_It wasn't your fault,'_ Sartago said again. _'What happened to him… you're not to blame for it, Kaelyn.'_

Kaelyn did not reply. Instead, she showed him an image from her memory. It was of Galbatorix as she had last seen him, standing on the platform, so calm and still, the noose around his neck and chains hanging from his wrists. The instant before the lever was pulled he had looked straight at her, and their eyes had met, just for a fraction of a second, just before he fell.

Sartago saw those eyes that tormented her, and she felt him shudder. _'He didn't blame you, Kaelyn.'_

'_He's dead,'_ Kaelyn answered flatly. _'They hanged him, Sartago. And then they put him on the rack and tore him apart. They took his heart out and showed it to the crowd. They killed him right there for everyone to see. I heard the screams. I heard them as I ran…'_

'_He did it for you,'_ Sartago said softly. _'He did it to save you.'_

Kaelyn started to shake. Tears leaked from under her eyelids and dried instantly in the wind, leaving a fine crust of salt on her face, like lace. _'I want him back,'_ she sobbed. _'I want him to be alive again. It's not _fair,_ Sartago, it's not fair, I can't stand it. I want him back. I wish I was dead.'_

'_No you don't,'_ Sartago said sharply. _'Don't you dare say that, Kaelyn. He died to save you. Be strong for him.'_

Kaelyn tried to control herself, but she couldn't. She cried still harder. _'I can't, Sartago. I can't.'_

'_You can,'_ the grey dragon let his presence fill her mind, lending her his strength. _'You can. You said you wanted to be his strongest warrior… you still can be. He died so you could live, so live. Live and fight on for him. Avenge him.'_

Kaelyn breathed deeply, and felt herself become still. Just for a moment, as her exhaustion and her guilt confused her, she thought Galbatorix was there, sitting behind her in the saddle, his arms around her, holding onto her so that she would not fall. _Fight on for me, Kaelyn,_ his voice whispered in her ear. _Can you do that?_

Kaelyn sighed deeply. 'I will,' she said. 'I swear.'

It took a long time to get to the Beors. They stayed in the air for most of the time, only landing at night when they were absolutely sure they would not be spotted. Virtually nothing was said by anyone on those rare occasions. Everyone had lapsed into a grim, depressed silence. Even the normally ebullient Gern had gone quiet. Tranah had taken charge, and for once Morzan did not argue. None of them had ever seen him so miserable. All his normal aggressive energy was completely gone, and whenever they camped he would sit down right at the edge of it, his shoulders hunched, and stare at the ground, making no effort to help with anything or even communicate. No-one made an issue of it. If anyone tried to cheer him up he would ignore them or, if they persisted, snap at them. They could all see how deeply the loss of Galbatorix had affected him.

Kaelyn could not sleep properly. She would lie awake every night, staring up at the sky and feeling a terrible emptiness inside her. When she did sleep, she had nightmares. Or perhaps they were just memories, replaying themselves again and again in her mind. She would see the dark stone room where she had been beaten and interrogated, pinned down by chains. Menulis was there, looming over her, speaking to her not cruelly, but with a kind of cold pity that was, in a way, worse. _Only tell me where he is,_ he said. _Only lead us to him, and it will all be over. You don't have to suffer. You have a choice. Just tell us where he is. Just help us stop the killing. _

And the more she refused, the more they hurt her. When at last she spat at him and took an oath in the ancient language that she would never betray her master or her friends, he had turned away. _Then so be it. Take her away. Tomorrow she will die the traitor's death… unless the Betrayer comes and offers to die in her place._

But the dream always ended the same way… with Galbatorix, standing there with the noose around his neck, his eyes dark and still. _Look for me in the shadows, Kaelyn. You'll find me if you look._

And she did look. When she woke up, cold but sweating, she would huddle against Sartago's flank and stare into the shadows, searching for him there. Sometimes she would think she could see him, just standing and watching her. But it was only ever an illusion. She knew he was gone.

When at last they reached the Beors, the dragons perched on a mountainside at dawn and sent a chorus of roars echoing over the landscape. Their riders dismounted and found a small cave to shelter in, where they dozed for a time and let the dragons continue their call.

It was a risk, but one that proved worth it. At midmorning the roars were answered, faintly, from somewhere away Southwards. The Forsworn roused themselves and went outside, waiting and listening while the calls went back and forth. Kaelyn went to Sartago's side and put her hand on his flank. _'Who is it?'_ she asked.

'_It's Keth,'_ said Sartago. _'I know her voice. And I think I can hear Ymazu too.'_

'_How far away are they?'_

'_A few hours. They'll be here by noon.'_

Kaelyn stared at the horizon, but couldn't see anything. A cold breeze whipped her cloak back off her shoulders, and she shivered.

'_You should go back inside and get some rest,'_ Sartago said gently. _'I'll call you if anything happens.'_

Kaelyn nodded vaguely and went back into the cave. There was a fire burning in the middle of the floor, but the others were still outside with the exception of Morzan, who was sitting by the fire with his shoulders hunched, brooding. Kaelyn sat down opposite him, casting wary glances at him. The truth was that he scared her. She had often seen him looking at her with something remarkably like hatred, and she knew that he blamed her for what had happened to Galbatorix. And she could not protest because she knew that he was right.

'Sartago says he heard Keth and Ymazu,' she said eventually, when the silence became too uncomfortable. 'They should be here by noon.'

'I know,' Morzan grunted, not looking up.

'Oh!' Kaelyn said stupidly. 'Idün told you, of course…' she forced herself to shut up, cringing internally.

Morzan ignored her.

Kaelyn forced herself to speak. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'For what happened… I didn't mean for it to happen, but I know it's my fault, and… I'm sorry.'

Morzan looked up at last, his dark eyes full of despair. But it was hidden behind a veil of cold fury. He stood up abruptly. 'We've lost,' he said. 'The elders've won. We're all going to die. And it's your fault.' He flung something down on the cave floor, and stalked out.

Kaelyn stayed where she was for some time, feeling as if she had just been stabbed in the stomach. Hot, sick guilt hit her, so hard it made her dizzy. She looked wildly toward the entrance, where the sunlight cast a shadow on the floor, and saw him standing there. Her heart skipped a beat. She stayed perfectly still, just staring. But she could see a shape there, formed in the shadow, the shape of a tall, sinewy man in a robe, his curly hair hanging down over his face.

Kaelyn's face split into a disbelieving grin, and she stood up, stumbling toward him. 'Master?'

And it was him. Stepping out of the shadows to meet her, his black eyes alight with a secret smile that was just for her, and he took her in his arms and held her close, his heart beating strongly against hers as he murmured her name. _Kaelyn_.

Kaelyn started up, her eyes opening. She stared around her, confused. She was sitting by the fire, and a chill was numbing her arms and legs. Tranah and Strein were nearby, talking in low voices and sharing some dry bread. Her parents were dozing together in a corner, and Sartago was curled up in the entrance, looking out over the mountains.

Utterly bewildered, she looked at the shadow by the entrance. There was no-one there.

'Oh, hello,' said Tranah, her loud voice breaking into her thoughts. 'Want some bread? It's hard as a rock, but if you soak it with some water it's not too bad.'

Kaelyn looked at her blankly. 'Was I asleep?'

'For several hours, actually,' said Tranah. 'It's nearly noon.'

She didn't remember falling asleep. 'What's going on?'

'Not much,' said Tranah, almost carelessly. 'We're waiting for Roland to get here.'

Kaelyn sighed miserably, shuffling a little closer to the fire for warmth. The dream was still vivid in her mind, and she tried to cling to it, but it slipped away from her, eluding her tired brain. She had gone too long without sleep, and now it was taking its toll on her all at once.

She forced herself to get up, and wandered around the cave, trying to wake herself up. When she strayed near to the entrance, she saw something lying on the floor and bent to pick it up. It was an iron amulet in the shape of a dragon, its eye an empty socket like a skull's. Kaelyn clutched it to her chest and walked out of the cave and into the sunlight.

Gern and Tuomas were on the ledge outside, sparring with their swords, but they stopped and looked around when they saw her.

'Hello, Kaelyn,' said Gern. 'Want to join us?'

Kaelyn shook her head. 'I don't have a sword any more,' she mumbled.

Sartago was awake. _'I saw your dream,'_ he said.

Kaelyn sat down beside him. _'I thought it was real,'_ she said.

Sartago said nothing. He raised his head and stared out at the horizon. Aedua and the other dragons had fallen silent by this time, but there was no need to call any more. There was a small gold shape in the air to the South, coming steadily closer, and with it were two others, less visible but close enough to recognise.

'_They'll be here soon,'_ said Sartago. _'Will you wait with me?'_

Kaelyn nodded silently.

'_Perhaps you should try and sleep some more,'_ Sartago added. _'You'll make yourself ill if you keep staying awake so long.'_

Kaelyn sighed and tried to make herself comfortable against his flank. Tuomas and Gern had resumed their sparring, and the clashing of metal kept her awake in spite of her exhaustion, though she was too tired to tell them to stop.

She stayed where she was, caught up in a kind of half-dreaming state where everything looked hazy and unreal and time ceased to matter. She was roused from it by Tuomas' shout.

'Here they come!'

Kaelyn started up, blinking, not sure if she had slept, and was in time to see the three dragons come down to land. Sartago, Aedua and Talziri went to meet them, growling and lifting their snouts affectionately toward Keth, who crooned softly and lowered her head to nuzzle at Sartago's shoulders. The gold dragon was sporting a broken talon, but was otherwise unharmed, and Roland was already climbing down off her back. 'Hello, hello!' he said in his usual cheerful tones. 'Good to see you, Kaelyn, and you Tuomas, Gern.'

Tranah and Strein emerged from the cave as Orwyne and Vander also dismounted. Roland paused to clap Tuomas on the back, and went to meet Tranah. 'Hello again, my Lady. I'm surprised to see you all here – what's going on?'

Tranah clasped his big rough hands in hers. 'Roland. I'm so glad to see you again.'

'And I you,' said Roland. 'But where's-?'

Tranah bowed her head. 'He's dead,' she said in a low voice.

Roland just looked at her blankly. 'What? I'm not sure I understand you there… where's Lord Galbatorix?'

'He's dead, Roland,' Tranah said again. 'They killed him.'

Still, Roland didn't seem to comprehend what she was saying. 'But that's not… I don't quite… don't do that, Tranah, it's not funny.'

'He's _dead_,' said Tranah. 'They caught him and put him to death at Gil'ead.'

Roland pulled away from her. 'No! Oh gods… tell me it isn't true, Tranah. Just tell me it isn't true.'

'I'm sorry,' said Tranah. 'I can't do that. He's gone.'

'But how did this happen?' Roland demanded. 'How could this happen?'

Kaelyn stepped forward. 'It's my fault,' she said.

Roland turned toward her. 'What do you mean, Kaelyn?'

'It's my fault he died,' said Kaelyn, her head low. 'They took my parents prisoner and I ran to set them free, but it was all a trick. They caught me. And they… he…'

'They sent us a message,' said Tranah. 'It said they would kill Kaelyn unless Galbatorix surrendered to them. And he went to Gil'ead, alone. We tried to stop him, but… he saved Kaelyn and sent her back to us. And they killed him. Kaelyn saw it happen. They hanged him. There was nothing we could have done.'

Roland had gone pale. Orwyne came to him and clasped his hand, and he held onto her, unable to speak.

Tranah, however, wasted no time. She took hold of Roland's shoulder. 'Listen to me,' she said, almost sharply. 'You are our leader now. Before he left, Galbatorix told us to find you and give you this message from him. You are the leader of the Forsworn from now on, and we're to obey you. But you must listen to all of us equally and take our advice.'

Roland looked at her. 'Oh, Tranah,' he said huskily. 'You know I'll do that. But I can't… how can I lead you?'

'You're the most senior of us,' said Tranah. 'And the most experienced.'

'I'm old, certainly,' said Roland. 'And I've fought in plenty of wars. But I'm no leader. The gods made me to follow, not to lead.'

'Nevertheless,' said Tranah. 'You are our leader now. I'll do my best to help you, but it's up to you now, Roland. The war isn't over yet. We must fight on.'

Roland hesitated. He looked from one to the other, his strong, freckled face wearing an expression almost of fear. No-one spoke. But then Kaelyn, driven by some impulse she only half understood, stepped forward and knelt at his feet. 'My Lord Roland,' she said, bowing her head. 'I am at your command.'

Tuomas and Gern looked at her, then did the same, and Tranah, Strein and Vander quickly followed. Even Orwyne knelt. Roland looked down at her. 'Orwyne, please-,'

'You are our leader now, my Lord,' the red-haired woman replied.

Roland clasped his hands together, his demeanour full of an uncertainty that was most unlike him. But then Keth gently nudged him with her snout, obviously communicating something to him in the privacy of their heads, and he stilled.

'Very well,' he said, his voice deeper and stronger than before. 'I cannot… if you want me to lead you, then I will do what I can. The war we began must continue, and though I do not think we can win it, we will not surrender. I for one intend to fight on for as long as I live, and if I must die, I will do so proudly, with the blood of my enemies on my sword and the power of the Three Peaks in my heart. If you would trust me enough to stand beside me then, I will be proud to have you with me.'

Tranah stood up, smiling. 'Not a leader, indeed. That was very well said, Roland.'

Roland did not smile in return. 'Let us go inside,' he said. 'We must make plans.'

The weeks that followed the loss of Galbatorix were not happy ones for the Forsworn. Roland took command, albeit reluctantly, and one of the first things he did was send Gern and Tuomas to gather information as best they could. As some of the less well-known members of the Forsworn, they were able to disguise themselves and enter the small town of Furnost, where they mingled with the locals and picked up what information they could. It was a dangerous assignment, but one they handled bravely and well.

The news of Galbatorix's capture and execution spread quickly; Menulis had sent out messages to his fellow riders which detailed his death and stated that the Forsworn had been found and massacred, leaving very few survivors. The rebellion had been crushed and the war was over, or so people were saying.

But it was good news for Roland. 'Menulis did us a great favour by spreading those lies about us,' he said once he had heard the report from the two junior riders. 'If the riders believe we're no longer a threat… well, they won't be expecting us to reappear, will they?'

'It's strange,' Tranah remarked. 'Why would he tell them that? Does he honestly believe it's true? Does he really think we're that helpless without Galbatorix?'

'So it would seem,' said Roland. 'Either way, we can take advantage of it.'

They decided to lie low for a time, to make plans and let the riders be lulled into a further sense of false security and also, though no-one admitted it out loud, to give themselves time to readjust to Roland's leadership.

Morzan, as expected, did not take kindly to it. But he proved less difficult than they had first thought; apparently too depressed to argue, he simply responded to Roland's commands with sullen and silent obedience. But at least he did as he was asked and didn't make an issue of it.

But when Roland finally put forward a plan he had formulated for resuming the fight with an attack on Gil'ead, he immediately ran into a wall.

Morzan was all for it. 'Good idea, sir,' he said, for once choosing to side with his new leader. 'We'll get that bastard Menulis and make him pay for what he done.'

Tranah and Strein, however, disagreed, pointing out the fact that, without Shruikan and his power to summon up a storm, they would have to fight Menulis and his fellow riders in the air. And fighting Menulis on an equal footing was not something they liked.

A vicious argument ensued, with at least three sides to it, and no-one could agree. Roland quickly proved that, in spite of whatever sterling qualities he possessed, he did not have the forcefulness required to assert himself properly and put an end to the argument. Morzan, of course, was the most vocal. After he had accused Tranah of cowardice and then proceeded to call both her and Strein a number of things which made Roland cringe, the argument degenerated into a shouting match which ended when Tranah stormed out. Afterwards Roland advised everyone to take some time to cool off, and left the camp on his own in order to think.

They were hiding out in a small valley in the Beors, having gone there to lie low for a while, and Roland walked off toward its upper end, where there was a small mountain. Keth was perched on its side, keeping watch, and he started to climb up toward her, freezing when he realised there was someone following him. He turned, reaching for his sword, but it was only Tuomas. The old rider sighed and sat down on a rock, waiting for the boy to join him.

Tuomas sat down next to his leader. He was the tallest of the three junior riders, and in truth he was a little lanky and awkward, but he'd filled out over the last few months. 'What're we going to do, sir?' he asked.

Roland sighed. 'Not to worry, lad. We'll meet up again later, when everyone's a little calmer, and come up with something then. As for me, I think the attack on Gil'ead could work, but I'm afraid I lack the leadership ability to carry it out as well as I would like.'

'You're a good leader, sir,' said Tuomas. 'It's not your fault the others won't listen.'

'Unfortunately, it is,' said Roland. 'I simply don't have the force of personality that Lord Galbatorix had. Without him here, we waste far too much time arguing.'

Tuomas nodded. 'But it's still not your fault.'

Roland shrugged, and the two of them sat in silence for a while, watching the clouds drift across the sky.

'Roland?'

'Yes?'

Tuomas looked a little awkward. 'I've been thinking… well, I mean… uh…'

'Spit it out, lad,' said Roland. 'I won't bite.'

'Well…' Tuomas, twisting his hands together. 'I was wondering… would you teach me about the Three Peaks? Because all those things you said about them, I kept thinking about it, and it kind of… made sense. I even tried praying to them once.'

Roland had grown a thick, shaggy beard over the lower half of his jaw, which made him look older and rather bearlike. He scratched thoughtfully at it. 'You're interested in becoming a member of the faith of the Three Peaks, are you?'

'I'm not sure,' said Tuomas, a little cautiously. 'But I want to learn more.'

'Well, I'll do what I can to teach you what I know,' said Roland. 'Although, admittedly, I haven't really done it before. We can even start now, if you like.'

'All right,' said Tuomas.

'Very well, then,' said Roland. 'Now, the basis of the faith I follow is-,' he broke off in midsentence, frowning.

'What is it?' said Tuomas.

'Hm?' said Roland. 'Oh, sorry. Keth was just telling me something.' He stood up and stared intently at something off to his left.

Tuomas followed his gaze. 'It's just a bird.'

Roland ignored him. He moved cautiously toward the bird – a large raven, which eyed him warily but didn't try and take off. The old rider held his arm out toward the creature and called it in the ancient language, and it flew onto his wrist. Roland brought it back to Tuomas, who saw that it had a patch of silver feathers on its chest – the mark of a messenger used by the riders. He stood up. 'How in the hell did that get here?'

'By flying, I would think,' said Roland. He untied the small roll of paper from the bird's leg, and unfurled it.

It seemed to take him forever to read it. Tuomas waited impatiently, but restrained himself from trying to read over Roland's shoulder. 'Well?' he said eventually.

Roland let the bird fly away, and started to walk off down the mountainside.

Tuomas ran after him. 'Sir? Sir, what did it say? Who's it for?'

'Come on,' Roland said briefly. 'I think the others should see this.'

Strein, Vander and Orwyne were still at the camp with Kaelyn's parents, and barely looked up when Roland arrived.

'You weren't gone long,' Orwyne remarked.

'I have something you should see,' said Roland. 'Where are the others?'

'Morzan went off that way,' said Strein, pointing. 'I think Tranah went to the river, and Kaelyn and Gern are looking for food, I think.'

'Well, don't dally,' said Roland. 'Kindly go and fetch them. I think everyone should be here.'

'Yes, sir,' said Strein. 'Orwyne, d'you want to help me?'

'Sure,' said Orwyne. 'I'll see if I can find Morzan.'

Strein sighed. 'Good luck trying to talk to him, you'll need it.'

The two women departed, and Roland sat down by the fire, still holding the note in his big hands.

'What's going on, sir?' said Vander.

'Someone has sent us a message,' said Roland. 'The gods alone know how the bird found us.'

Vander blinked. 'A message? What does it say?'

'Wait until the others get here,' said Roland. 'I'll read it for you.'

The others returned in due course – Morzan was the last one to arrive, looking a little calmer than before, though Tranah was still in a temper. But she was polite enough to Roland. 'What's going on, sir?'

Roland waited until they were all seated, and then stood up. 'A messenger bird just found me on the mountainside yonder,' he said, waving carelessly in its general direction. 'One of the silver-chested ones.'

The others stiffened. 'Who was it from?' said Tranah.

'It had come from Gil'ead,' said Roland. 'It had the blue band on its leg. And… well, this is the note it had.' He unfurled it. 'It's written in the ancient language. I'll just read it for you… "_To Lord Roland. You and your friends are cordially invited to dine with the governor of Gil'ead, on whichever day you can come to the city. All nine of your companions are welcome. You will not be harmed. Orgetorix was a cunning and deceptive man, but I am not. May the light of the _tharian lleaud_ protect you._"'

'What the hell does _that_ mean?' said Morzan. 'Us, dine with the governor?'

'It's unsigned,' said Roland. 'But there's more. This was tied to it.'

The others craned forward to look at it. It was a little curl of jet-black hair, bound up with a piece of thread.

'It's Galbatorix's hair,' said Roland.

'What? How do you know that?' said Tranah.

'Because this is his handwriting,' said Roland, holding the note out toward her.

Tranah examined the note, then wordlessly passed it to her companions. They examined it closely, and each one of them nodded.

'It's his writing,' Morzan said blankly. 'That little curl on that rune there, he always does that. But what does that mean?'

'It means he wrote this letter,' Roland said simply. 'See the other clues there? Orgetorix, the dark elvish king. "Tharian lleaud" – that's dark elvish for the crescent moon. He's alive.'

The rest of the Forsworn exchanged glances.

'But _how?'_ said Vander. 'Kaelyn saw him die, didn't she?'

Everyone looked at her. 'I did,' she said, almost defensively. 'I saw him fall, and I saw the rope go taut. There's no way he could have escaped; he'd taken an oath in the ancient language not to fight or run away.'

'Nevertheless, the evidence is right here,' said Roland. 'But what this means I couldn't say.'

'It's a trap,' said Tranah, almost instantly. 'They're trying to get us to come to Gil'ead and be captured.'

'But it's written in the ancient language,' said Orwyne.

'Yes, but how can it be anything other than a lie, Orwyne?'

'I don't know, but it can't be anything other than the truth?' said Orwyne. 'Or some strange version of it, anyway…' The red-haired woman looked at Roland. 'What shall we do, sir?'

Roland hesitated. 'We should think on it for a while, I think. I for one would prefer not to rush into anything if I can possibly help it.'

'What's to think about?' Morzan said suddenly. 'It's not a trap, so it must be real. Galbatorix is alive, and he's in Gil'ead, and we've got to go to him.'

'Morzan's right,' said Kaelyn.

'No, Kaelyn,' said Tranah. 'We can't just rush in like that. We need to think it over. Just because this note's in the ancient language doesn't mean it can't be deceptive. It says "you will not be harmed", but that doesn't mean we can't be taken prisoner, does it?'

'But Galbatorix wrote it,' Kaelyn pointed out.

'We don't know he wrote it of his own free will,' said Tranah. 'And it might not have been him. It's possible to copy someone else's handwriting, you know.'

'Yes, but what about the clues?' said Tuomas. 'Orgetorix and the moon-thing… they don't know about that, only him and us know it.'

'There's such a thing as torturing information like that out of people, Tuomas,' Tranah said grimly. 'If he's alive, it's in a dungeon.'

'Well then we've got to rescue him,' said Gern.

'By rushing straight into a trap?' Tranah snapped. 'No thankyou.'

'Now then, Tranah,' said Roland. 'Irritability won't help anyone. But you are correct; there is every chance that the note was coerced, or that it is a fake.'

'Oh, for the love of gods!' Kaelyn burst forth suddenly. 'Can't you hear yourselves? You're being pathetic!'

They stared at her, shocked.

'It's real,' the girl went on, pointing accusingly at the note. 'We know it's real. It's his handwriting, his hair, his language. It can't be a lie or a trick; it's real. Can't you do _anything_ for yourselves? Well?'

'Kaelyn, there is no shame in caution,' Roland said in as stern a voice as he ever used.

'Yes, but you're not being cautious, you're being stupid,' said Kaelyn. 'Well, you can stand here and argue if you want, but I'm going to find Galbatorix and tell him I believed him even if you didn't.' Without further ado, she turned and strode off through the trees, toward the spot where Sartago was waiting.

They ran after her, all shouting at her to stop, but she reached Sartago before they did, and was about to pull herself into the saddle when Roland grabbed hold of her shoulder and pulled her back. 'Kaelyn, stop that right now,' he said, sounding angry for almost the first time since they had met him. 'Foolish behaviour like that is what caused us to lose Galbatorix in the first place.'

Kaelyn shook him off and took hold of the saddle. 'If you'd rather stay here and waste time, then I'll go alone,' she snapped. 'It's my fault we lost him, so I'll be the one to get him back.'

'Kaelyn, for the love of gods, stop it!' Tranah shouted. 'You're acting like a child. You keep running into danger like this, and quite honestly I'm sick of having to drag you out of it. You already got Galbatorix killed, and now you're trying to do it to the rest of us as well. Step away from Sartago right now, or so help me I'll make you feel the back of my hand.'

Dead silence followed. Kaelyn stared at Tranah, caught between shock and rage, and for an instant it looked like she was actually going to draw her sword, but then Morzan stepped in. He stood beside Kaelyn and said; 'She's right.'

'Morzan, please don't make the situation any worse,' said Roland, who was looking mortified.

But Morzan looked at him resolutely and said; 'She's right, sir. It's not a trap, it can't be. It's real. Galbatorix is alive, and he's in Gil'ead, and that's all I need to know.'

'Morzan, as your leader, I am ordering you to calm down,' said Roland. 'Please. There's no harm in just-,'

'I swore an oath to Galbatorix, not you,' said Morzan. 'The girl's right.'

No-one dared to speak for what felt like several minutes, but then the tension broke when Tuomas and Gern came forward and silently joined their friend. A few moments later, Vander went too, and then Strein.

'We're going, sir,' said Kaelyn, unable to avoid betraying a hint of pride. 'Now. I know it's the right thing to do. I can feel it. So let's not fight. Let's just go.'

'But if it's a trap-,' Tranah began.

'It isn't,' Morzan interrupted. 'It can't be. Listen to yerself, woman, you're so jittery you don't even trust your own leader's handwritin'. Eh? So unless they've figured out a way to lie in a language no-one can lie in, it's all real.'

More silence followed. Tranah glared at Morzan, who looked back insolently.

At long last, Roland threw up his hands. 'All right! Fine! We'll go. And if I end up standing at the gibbet with the rest of you, rest assured my last words will be "I told you so".'

'That's not gonna happen to me,' Morzan vowed. 'Those bastards ain't gonna take me alive. I'll die first, and I'll take a dozen of 'em down with me.'

'I've no doubt you will, Morzan,' Roland said heavily. 'Now then, my Lords and Ladies… we may as well be off.' He walked away, muttering irritably, and the others went to find their dragons.

'That was incredible, Kaelyn,' said Tuomas, nudging his friend. 'Where the hell did you get all that from? You sounded like Galbatorix for a moment there.'

Kaelyn realised she was trembling, and forced herself to breathe calmly. 'I don't know. I just couldn't stand it any longer. They've done nothing but argue all day, and I just…'

'Told them so,' her mother broke in.

'Yes, I suppose I did,' said Kaelyn.

Rikash and Hugh, who had watched the argument from a safe distance, went to join their daughter now, their looks toward her both surprised and proud.

'I never thought you had it in you, Kaelyn,' said Hugh, giving her a quick hug.

'Was it the right thing to do?' Kaelyn asked, rather nervously.

'I don't know,' said Rikash. 'How could I? I'm not a warrior like you are, and quite honestly you shouldn't be looking to me for approval. You're a grown woman now, and a rider.'

Kaelyn felt no pride at this. 'No I'm not,' she said softly. 'Not really. I'm not a proper warrior yet, or a proper rider.'

'But you'll get there,' said Hugh. 'You know you will.'

Kaelyn sighed and helped him onto Sartago's back before she climbed up behind him and secured herself with the leg-straps while her mother went with Tuomas and Gern.

'_What do you think, Sartago? Did I do the right thing?'_

'_I think you did,'_ said Sartago. _'The letter couldn't have been a lie. I don't know what it meant, but if Galbatorix wrote it…'_

'_Then he's alive,' _said Kaelyn, feeling somehow frightened by the idea.

'_Yes. But… I still don't understand how that can be true. If he took an oath before they… and if you saw him fall…'_

'_Maybe it was a trick,'_ said Kaelyn. _'Maybe they didn't really kill him, maybe they faked it so everyone would think he was dead, and now he's in the dungeon. But if that's true, how did he write to us?'_

'_I don't know, Kaelyn. But we'll find out when we get there, I suppose.'_

When they arrived at Gil'ead, the first thing they noticed was that the dragon roost was unoccupied. They scanned the city and the castle below for any sign of a dragon, but there wasn't one. Roland ordered the others to stay circling overhead, and Keth came down to land on the roost, hitting it with a thud and a click of claws.

Roland got down off her back as fast as he could, drawing his sword as soon as he hit the ground. The trapdoor leading down into the castle was shut, and he started toward it, every sense on the alert for danger. The trapdoor opened before he reached it, and a pair of guards came through onto the roost. Roland immediately raised his sword, but the guards made no move to attack him. Their swords were sheathed, and they stood side-by-side and bowed low.

'My Lord Roland,' said one of them. 'We are honoured by your presence. Please, put your sword away. You're in no danger here.'

Roland, not satisfied, probed the man's mind for any sign of trickery. The guard winced, but there were no lies in his head. 'Please, my Lord,' he said. 'You can relax. The city governor has given orders for you to be made welcome. If you would call your friends down here, I've been asked to show you inside.'

Satisfied, Roland sheathed his sword and mentally asked Keth to call the others. The gold dragon roared at the sky, and a few moments later the other dragons came down to land. The dragon roost was too small to hold all of them, so the others deposited their riders and went to perch on the castle walls, which they did somewhat awkwardly.

Once the Forsworn and Kaelyn's parents were all together on the roost, Roland nodded to the guard. 'Show us inside.'

The guard and his companion saluted and climbed down through the trapdoor.

Roland nodded to his friends. 'Very well… keep together, and be on the alert. At the slightest sign of anything suspicious, prepare for an attack and do as I tell you. No arguments, no disobedience. I, personally, am all in favour of discussion and making decisions as a group, but this is different. Understood?'

'Yes, sir,' said Tranah.

'I said, understood?' said Roland, looking meaningfully at both Morzan and Kaelyn.

'Yes, sir, I understand,' said Kaelyn, looking at the ground.

'And you, Morzan?'

'Yeh, whatever,' Morzan muttered, and walked off toward the trapdoor.

They climbed down the ladder and into the castle, and once they were inside they couldn't help but feel trapped. Here, out of sight of the sky and away from their dragons, they were vulnerable, and all of them knew it.

The two guards led them away along a corridor and into a large audience chamber. There they stopped.

'Welcome to Gil'ead, my Lords and Ladies,' said one of the guards. 'Now, if you will just wait here for a few moments-,'

'Not so fast,' said Roland. 'First we would like to know-,'

The guard nodded. 'Understood, my Lord. We were expecting that. He's in the dungeons right now, but if you'll just wait a few moments I'll go and fetch him. Please, make yourselves comfortable.' He bowed again and hurried out with his comrade.

The Forsworn stood awkwardly in a group in the middle of the room, none of them quite knowing what to make of this.

'Go and fetch whom, I wonder?' said Roland. 'I must say they seem awfully well-prepared…'

'But there aren't any other riders here,' said Gern. 'We'd have seen their dragons.'

'On the contrary, my lad, I am completely certain that there is at least one other rider here,' said Roland. 'It's only to be expected that they would be keeping their partner hidden, considering how many have been caught off-guard and killed while roosting.'

'Oh,' said Gern. 'Yeah, I suppose that makes sense…'

They waited in tense silence for a time, keeping a close watch on the doors. When one of them opened, every single one of them drew their sword and went into a fighting stance, but it was only a group of servants, who walked in bearing goblets and a flagon of wine.

One of them bowed to Roland, somewhat nervously. 'Some refreshments for you, my Lord.'

The Forsworn glanced at Roland before they accepted the wine, but none of them drank it. The servants departed hastily, closing the door behind them.

Roland sniffed carefully at his wine and muttered a few words over it before he tasted it.

The others watched him tensely. 'How is it, sir?' said Vander.

'A rather good vintage, actually,' said Roland. 'And safe. You can drink it.'

'Are you sure, sir?' said Tranah.

Roland gave her a withering glance. 'Really, Tranah. The day the Three Peaks fall down is the day I fail to recognise poison when I see it.'

Orwyne chuckled. 'I trust you, Roland.' She drank, tasting it thoughtfully. 'Hmm. Not bad at all. Teirmish, if I'm any judge.'

They drank, and allowed themselves to relax slightly.

At long last, the double doors they had entered by were opened. The two guards came through it and stationed themselves on either side… and Galbatorix limped into the room.

He was moving slowly and supporting himself with a stick, but it was him, large as life, alive and unscathed but for a few cuts and bruises on his face. He was wearing a new and finely-tailored robe, and his hair and beard were neatly trimmed and combed.

He stopped in the doorway and grinned broadly at them. 'My gods, now that's a sight for sore eyes. I thought you'd never come.'

The Forsworn gaped at him. 'Galbatorix?' said Roland. 'Is that really you?'

'Well of course it is,' said Galbatorix, a touch irritably. 'Who d'you think it is, the Queen of the Dwarves? I'm awfully sorry for not letting you know what had happened, but I had to stay here because – _oof!_'

Kaelyn had rushed across the room and nearly flung herself on him, hugging him fiercely. He protested weakly but didn't try and push her off, and the next moment the rest of the Forsworn had crowded around their leader, all talking at once, reaching out to touch him as if to reassure themselves that he was real, and some, like Kaelyn, went so far as to hug him too. He made some attempt to maintain his dignity, but couldn't help but smile. 'Be careful there, would you, I've got a bad back. Thank gods you all made it here, I was starting to think I'd have to go and look for you myself.'

'Well, why didn't you, sir?' said Roland.

'The governor of Gil'ead isn't allowed to run off and abandon his duties, you know,' said Galbatorix, a little mischievously. 'I must have sent about a hundred messenger birds to you. I kept worrying that the wrong person was going to find one of them and figure out what the note meant, but thank gods it paid off.'

'The governor of-?'

'Yes. That's what the people more or less made me a few weeks ago. And you can stop glancing at the doors like that, we're safe here. Gil'ead's ours.'

'Are you sure?' said Tranah.

'Absolutely. No-one's attacking here, because they all think Menulis is still in charge. Of course, that's not going to last forever. But now you're all here, we can be ready for when they find out where I'm hiding.'

'But how did you even end up like this?' said Roland. 'I mean, unless Kaelyn lied to us, the last time she saw you they were in the process of hanging you.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'The rope snapped. But, look, let's not stand around here. I've had some rooms prepared for you, and there's baths and clean clothes and so on. Go and have a wash and a bit of a rest, and I'll have some food made. Explanations can wait until then, all right?'

'Just as you say, sir,' said Roland.


	41. The Wind of War

Chapter Forty-One

The Wind of War

When Galbatorix stood on the trapdoor in front of the chanting crowd, the rope cutting into his neck, the last thing he saw was Kaelyn, standing at the back of the crowd and staring up at him with horror. 'For the love of gods, you idiot, get out of here!' he muttered under his breath.

There was a clunk from behind him as the lever was pulled, and suddenly there was nothing to stand on. Shock thumped into his stomach as he fell, but the rope only went taut for a second. As soon as his full weight was dangling from it, it snapped about halfway along its length, and he fell straight through the trapdoor to the ground below. He landed neatly on his feet and, without hesitating for even a moment, he ran. Screams rose from the crowd, but it was already too late.

Galbatorix's still-chained hands had begun to glow with dark energy. He reached the spot directly beneath the part of the platform where the group of riders were standing, and unleashed his magic in one massive, reckless burst.

The platform exploded. Shattered wood shot straight upward, and the three riders were sent flying. Galbatorix vaulted through the hole he had made, and hurled himself straight at Menulis, shouting; '_ATTACK!_'

And that was precisely what the crowd did. At least half of them charged, scrambling up onto the platform and attacking Menulis' three wounded companions. There were roars from overhead as their dragons came rushing to help them, but before they had arrived one of them suddenly screamed and fell from the sky, hitting the castle's outer wall with a sickening thud, but already dead from the shock of his rider's death. The other two wailed in distress, but landed on the platform, nearly demolishing it, and began to wreak havoc on the crowd with their talons, desperately trying to reach their riders.

The rioters scattered in terror, but it was already too late for one of the remaining two riders. His death did not kill his dragon, but she screamed and flew away, spiralling crazily over the city, evidently made insane. The second one snatched up his rider and flew away, but was struck in midair by a mad, snarling shape that appeared as if out of nowhere. He fell, his wing shredded, and the people on the ground finished him off in moments while Shruikan went after his maddened companion.

And, while all this was going on, Galbatorix fought Menulis. He did so bare-handed, unable to find his sword, screaming and beserk. The old elf fought back, hard and fast, relying on his magic rather than his sword. Galbatorix dodged his attacks and sent back his own, maddened to the point that he made no attempt at all to shield himself. But Menulis was faster and more experienced than him. He forced himself to stay calm, and took advantage of Galbatorix's recklessness, gradually wearing him down. When Galbatorix slowed, weighed down by his chains, Menulis took his chance, and hit him with a powerful spell, directly in the chest. Galbatorix was thrown backward as if struck by a falling tree, and slammed into the castle wall. He slid onto the ground and lay there, groaning softly.

Menulis wasted no time in running after him, already preparing another spell to finish him off. But he had forgotten the rebelling citizens of Gil'ead. A hefty man saw him pass, and smacked the elf in the back of the head with a length of shattered wood. Menulis fell, cursing.

Several people pulled Galbatorix to his feet. He stood, wincing at the pain in his back, and as he looked up, he saw Menulis rise, his right hand, haloed in blue magic, lifting.

'Look out!' Galbatorix yelled. He shoved the people out of his way, and charged straight at Menulis, roaring his battle-cry. '_LAELA!_'

Menulis' spell was never cast. Galbatorix slammed into him, bowling him over. The old elf hit the ground hard, and Galbatorix pinned him down and began raining punches down on his face and chest, gathering his chains together in both hands and brutally beating him until he was semi-conscious and bleeding. Menulis made a feeble attempt to fight back, but the fall had stunned him, and Galbatorix's assault made focusing his magic impossible. Unable to think, seeing stars flashing in front of his eyes, Menulis struggled to get away, but there was no escape. Galbatorix's hands locked around his throat, his face suddenly inches away from that of his enemy.

Menulis grabbed at Galbatorix's wrists, gasping for breath. 'Stop! Let go! Please!'

Galbatorix's face, still painted with the dark elvish signs of war, twisted into a mad, animal snarl. 'You killed my parents, elf,' he rasped. 'Sent them to their deaths. Took them away from me.'

'I didn't!' Menulis gasped. 'I swear!'

Galbatorix squeezed more tightly. 'Ingë Taranisäii, elf. Ingë Taranisäii, my mother. She was nineteen years old. Ingë Taranisäii, you arrogant piece of elvish scum, Ingë Taranisäii, the mother of the half-breed. What did you think when you saw me, Menulis? Was I small? Was I innocent? Well? Was I? Did I look like a monster to you then, Menulis, or was I a child? Was I? _WAS I?_'

Menulis did not answer. Galbatorix's hands squeezed and squeezed, crushing his neck. The old elf looked up blankly at the face of the half-breed, the face that so resembled that of Skandar Traeganni, who had faced him so calmly on the day of his death, and just for a second he thought it was not a man's face but a child's. Just a tiny child, staring up at him, its eyes icy calm and black as night. The eyes of a dark elf.

Then the void took him.

When Galbatorix finally let go of Menulis' neck and got a little unsteadily to his feet, he found himself surrounded by people. They had crowded around him, keeping a safe distance, but were all watching him closely.

Galbatorix muttered a word and the chains holding his wrists together snapped. Shruikan came down to land beside him and the people ran, but they quickly returned while Galbatorix was healing his partner's injuries. He turned away from doing this, and saw someone coming toward him. The man wordlessly held White Violence out toward him, and he took it and put it into its sheath on his back. 'Thankyou.' He looked at the rest of the crowd, which was watching him expectantly. 'Thankyou,' he said again, more loudly. He glanced down at Menulis' body, and felt an odd little chill when he realised what he had done. 'You saved me,' he told the watching people. 'And I thank you for that. Today you discovered that the riders are not invincible. You dared to fight back, and you won.'

'We fought for you!' one man shouted suddenly, raising his fist. 'Rider's Bane! Lead us to the castle and we'll take it!'

The rest of them roared their approval, and, without waiting for him to react, swarmed toward the castle gates.

Galbatorix drew White Violence and limped after them. They had reached the gates and were trying to force them open, but the solid wood refused to budge.

'Out of the way!' Galbatorix commanded.

The people moved aside, and Galbatorix held his hand out toward the gates and spoke a string of words in the ancient language. They swung open with a loud crack of breaking wood, and he charged through them with his new followers behind him.

The storming of the castle was fast and brutal. Within less than half an hour the guards holding it had surrendered, and Galbatorix found himself ensconced in the castle, surrounded by people singing his praises.

'…and that's about it, really,' he finished.

The Forsworn had listened closely to the story, amazed. All of them were clad in new clothes and had washed, and they were looking considerably better for it.

'Only a few hours after that,' Galbatorix resumed, 'The city's nobles came to me and said they'd decided to hand the ruling of the city over to me. Because, quite frankly, they didn't have any other options. I'd probably have killed them if they hadn't. It took a bit of effort to get everyone out of the castle, but they went in the end. I closed the city up and ordered everyone to stay inside. Didn't want the news to get out any faster than it had to. I sent Menulis' heart to Ilirea in a box, with a letter saying it was mine. I forged his handwriting. Sent out a bunch of other fake letters in his name, spread the word that I was dead and you'd all been massacred. It should create some confusion for a while, which will give us room to manoeuvre. After that I couldn't afford to leave here, but I knew that I had to contact you and let you know what had happened. Thank gods it worked, because as soon as the elders realise that I've been impersonating Menulis they'll send every rider in the country here to get me. There's already been a few near-misses. I'm very sorry for disappearing on you like that. But I knew you'd be able to survive without me, you're all capable. More capable than me, in some cases. But something good came out of this whole mess – we've got a stronghold now.' He paused, sighed, and pointed his walking stick at Roland. 'And now you're going to tell me off.'

Roland did not smile. 'Correct.'

'Well, go ahead, then,' said Galbatorix, sitting back with a resigned expression. 'I'm listening.'

'Sir… Galbatorix… I'm only going to say this once, but I mean it. You have got to stop trying to fight the war on your own. What you did was extremely irresponsible, and quite frankly it was not the sort of behaviour I've come to expect from the leader I've entrusted with my life. This is the second time you've gone rushing into danger without thinking it over first, and it certainly isn't the first time you've been dishonest with us.' Roland spoke firmly, his gaze steady. 'I will be honest and say that I am deeply disappointed in you.'

The others listened, not saying anything. Tranah, Strein and Vander looked grim, Morzan angry, Tuomas and Gern dismayed, and Kaelyn ashamed.

Galbatorix remained unreadable. 'Yes…' he said once Roland had fallen silent. 'I was prepared for you to say something like that. And I'm sorry.'

'Apologies are fine,' said Roland, without a trace of his normal good humour. 'But what I really want is your assurance that you will stop this sort of thing and act responsibly. Our lives are in your hands, along with your own, and I'll thank you to treat them a little more carefully in future.'

At that, Orwyne said; 'Now, steady on, Roland-,'

'Be quiet,' said Roland. 'Sir, I'm not trying to make you feel bad here, but I want to impress on you that we cannot afford to have you do something like this again.'

Galbatorix's jaw tightened very slightly; the only hint of anger he showed. 'And what exactly was that, Roland?'

'You failed to confide in us, and you abandoned us,' said Roland. 'For the gods' sakes, sir, you're our leader. How can we possibly work alongside you if you don't tell us what we need to know? You left us without a leader, and if we had not been lucky we could very well have all died or been captured. And that would have been it. The war would have been over.'

'I trusted you,' Galbatorix said sharply. 'I knew you could survive without me. And I didn't _intend_ to do any of that. I promise.'

'Then what _did _you intend, may I ask?'

'Listen to me,' said Galbatorix, cold-eyed and unsmiling. 'I didn't plan this. I meant what I said before I left for Gil'ead. I didn't know it would end up like this. I didn't think I was going to survive, but when I realised I was going to, I had no way of contacting you.'

'Explain yourself,' said Roland.

'All right. I came to Gil'ead to save Kaelyn, like I said. I knew I had to come alone. If any of you had come with me, you'd have been spotted from a mile away. You _know_ there isn't any cover around the lake. On the way there, I decided… well, I had no intention of going down without a fight. I had to make sure Kaelyn was out of danger first, though.' He glanced at her. 'You wouldn't _run._ I kept telling you to run, but you wouldn't. I thought they were going to kill me before you were at a safe distance… thank gods Menulis interfered.'

'I'm sorry-,'

'Don't be; you couldn't have known. Anyway, once you were out of the way, I used my magic on the rope. Weakened it about halfway along, so it'd snap as soon as it took my weight. And then I attacked. I wanted to take that bastard Menulis down with me. I hadn't known the crowd was going to do what they did, but they did. And after the fight was over, you'd already gone, and I was in the middle of a rebellion. I'd been planning to make a run for it if I could; go after Kaelyn and get back to camp, but I couldn't miss an opportunity like that. And the next thing I knew I was in charge of Gil'ead, and you were all miles away.'

'I see,' said Roland. He seemed very slightly placated. 'But there is still one thing in your story that doesn't add up. Kaelyn says you took an oath that you wouldn't fight or run. You swore it right in front of everyone.'

Galbatorix shrugged. 'I lied.'

'In the _ancient language?'_

'Yes.'

The others looked nonplussed. 'You can do that?' said Tranah.

'I've always been able to do it,' said Galbatorix. 'All dark elves could do it. That's how I turned traitor without dying.'

'Well, with respect, sir, don't you think you should have told us?' said Roland.

'To be honest, no,' said Galbatorix.

'Why?' said Orwyne.

'That ability,' said Galbatorix, 'Is one of my most powerful weapons. It's already saved my life once. And it's a weapon that can only work if people don't know about it. I didn't tell you because the fewer people know about it, the better. And that reminds me. Before we do anything else, everyone in this room is going to take an oath. None of you will ever tell my secrets to another living soul. Swear it. You first, Roland.'

Roland glanced at the others. 'That seems fair enough, sir.' He placed his hand on his chest and recited the oath, wording it carefully. Then the others had to repeat it, one by one. Even Hugh and Rikash took it, though they had to be coached on the pronounciation first.

Afterwards Galbatorix said; 'Good. And Roland… you're right. I was wrong to rush off like that, and I promise that from now on I'll let the Forsworn work as a team and be more careful to keep myself safe. Hugh, Rikash… you are free to return to your home. I've had it cleaned out, and one of your neigbours is keeping an eye on it. You'll be compensated for your troubles. You can leave now.'

The two of them took the hint that their presence wasn't required, and stood up to go.

'May I go with them, Master?' said Kaelyn.

'No. You'll stay here.'

Kaelyn didn't try and argue. She hugged her parents goodbye, and once they had left Galbatorix locked the door behind them and returned to the table. 'Now,' he said. 'We have things to discuss. I've been making plans.'

'We're listening, sir,' said Roland.

'Good. First of all, I have some information. Two days ago, Shruikan caught an elvish messenger travelling from Ilirea. I… persuaded him to tell me what he knew. The elders have gathered all the most powerful riders together, and have sent them out to scour the countryside, looking for all of you. It's lucky you made it here without being detected, because nowhere will be safe soon, especially if the wild dragons start helping them. But I have news on that front, too. The reason why the wild dragons haven't mobilised yet is that they have a new leader. The last one, Thornessa, was ready to help the elders, but it seems she's been replaced. I don't know who the new leader is, but our course is clear. I must talk to him. If I can win his support, or at the very least turn him against the elders, the wild dragons will be neutralised, which will give us a huge advantage. But it will be dangerous, and we'll have to be careful about it. We all know what the wild dragons can be like.'

'I agree,' said Tranah. 'I mean, that we should try and win their support. The dragons are quite close to the elves, but that doesn't mean all that much. They're fierce and they don't believe in fighting for anything unless there's an immediate benefit in it for themselves.'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'And… well, if I can talk with Thornessa… she and I met in Ellesméra, and we got on well. I think I can probably find a way to persuade this new leader, whoever he is. In the meantime, I have an idea about what else we should be doing. The capture of Gil'ead marks the end of our time as fugitives. We have ordinary humans following us now. Just about every one of the people in this city are prepared to fight for me. There were a few who stayed loyal to the elders, but they've been dealt with. I made it clear that I won't tolerate opposition. Now, if we need to, we can mobilise the army here and send them out to attack different targets, but we have to be careful. The instant the elders realise we're here – and it'll happen very soon, you mark my words – we'll be attacked from everywhere at once. Elves, dwarves, dragons, other riders… every damn person in the country will come to fight us. But if we can capture more cities before then, and get ourselves more strongholds, we'll have a much better chance of winning. Now, here's my plan. We're going to split up again. Morzan, you, Gern and Tuomas will go to Teirm. There are two riders there. Kill or capture both of them. Use any means necessary. Roland, you, Orwyne and Vander will take Dras-Leona. Tranah and Strein, you and Kaelyn will stay here with me. Understood?'

'Yes, sir,' said Morzan.

'A good plan, sir,' said Roland. 'But-,'

'No arguments,' said Galbatorix, cutting across him. 'I appreciate your advice, Roland, but I am your master, and you'll do as I say.'

'I – yes, sir,' said Roland, rather stiffly.

'Good. Now go. We'll discuss this again later. Get some rest.'

They paused for a few moments, looking at him.

'Go on,' Galbatorix snapped. 'Oh, Kaelyn… you stay behind, please. I want a word with you.'

They left, casting slightly apprehensive glances at both Kaelyn and Galbatorix. Kaelyn remained behind, feeling an unpleasant coldness in her stomach.

'Now,' said Galbatorix, once the door had closed and they were alone. 'Are you all right? They didn't hurt you too badly, did they?'

'They whipped me,' said Kaelyn in a rather distant voice. 'But I'm okay. I've got scars on my back now, just like you.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I see. Well, I'm glad you're all right. If you'd been killed, it would have been my fault. And quite honestly, I'm tired of seeing people die because of me.' He stood up and limped over to the wall, where a large chest stood. He opened it and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. 'This is for you,' he said. 'I couldn't find yours, so this'll have to do.'

Kaelyn took it and unwrapped it. It was a sword. Its blade was dark ocean blue, and its hilt was silver, decorated with sapphires and emeralds. The engraved name on it was _Sœr Nađr Tǿnn_.

'Menulis' sword,' Galbatorix said briefly. '"Sea-Serpent's Tooth". You may find it useful.'

'Thankyou-,'

Galbatorix waved her into silence. 'Now,' he said. 'Listen closely, because I'm not going to repeat this. From now on, you'll stay with me and do as you're told. No arguing, no distracting me, no unnecessary questions. You'll treat me as your leader from now on. Speak to me when you have something important to say; otherwise, leave me alone. Your training is complete. Therefore, I'll expect you to act like a proper rider. When you ran away here, you put yourself and Gern in danger, and your dragons as well. You could have lost all your lives at best, and at worst cost us the war. I _never_ want to see you act like that again, is that understood?'

Kaelyn felt as if her stomach had turned to ice. 'But Master, they had my parents-,'

'Be quiet. I am your leader, and I make the decisions. The outcome of the war, and the lives of thousands of people, depend on me, and I can't afford to spend my time putting myself in danger by dragging you out of it. Do you understand?'

Kaelyn couldn't look him in the eye. 'Yes, Master,' she mumbled.

'You're only young,' Galbatorix said more gently. 'I understand that. We all make mistakes. I'm not angry with you, but you have to understand that. Roland was right to say what he said. I've been acting like a hot-headed boy, not a leader. Now it's time for both of us to grow up. All right?'

Kaelyn swallowed the lump in her throat with some difficulty. 'Yes, Master.'

'Good. Now go and get some rest. I've got work to do.'

Kaelyn left without saying a word, her head bowed. Galbatorix watched her go. He felt cruel, but he forced himself to keep calm and say nothing. Still, he knew that he had done the right thing. He had looked upon Kaelyn as being as much like a sister as a daughter. Her youth and innocence had reminded him of his old self, and his friendship with her had encouraged him to act like it again without even realising he was doing it. It had clouded his judgement and, even though it hurt him inside, he knew he had to put aside the boy and act like a man. And if his friendship with Kaelyn suffered as a result… well, it would probably be for the best. The fact that he cared about her had already hurt the pair of them once, and he berated himself for forgetting that he was supposed to be leading the Forsworn, not using them as some self-deluding replacement for the family he'd lost.

'No,' he muttered aloud. 'Not for me, not ever again.'

He had to put aside his feelings for them now, and he knew it. Even if he didn't want to.

He sighed unhappily, and rubbed his aching back. It was still giving him trouble, even though the fight with Menulis had been some time ago. He'd have to ask Roland for a remedy of some sort.

In the meantime, there was work to do. He picked up his walking stick again, and limped out of the room.


	42. An Old Friend

Chapter Forty-Two

An Old Friend

Tranah did not feel like sleeping. She went up onto the castle wall in the hopes of finding Roland there, and, sure enough, she found him sitting on the parapet with Orwyne.

The old rider looked up at Tranah's approach. 'Ah, hello, young lady. Please, feel free to join us.'

Tranah sat down beside Orwyne and stared out at the view over the city. It was disarmingly peaceful; she could see people walking around down there, disconcertingly small from this height, going about their business as if nothing had happened.

'So,' said Orwyne. 'What d'you think?'

Tranah scratched her head. 'Well, we've got him back, and that's a mercy. And Roland-,'

'If you're going to complain over the fact that I told him off, kindly desist,' Roland interrupted. 'I was well within my rights.'

'Actually, I was going to say you did the right thing,' said Tranah. 'If you hadn't said it, I would have.'

'Ah,' Roland was unable to hide a slight smile. 'Well, I really should have expected that.'

'He won't be happy about it, but it needed to be said,' Orwyne agreed. 'He's a great leader, I'm not going to argue about that, but he was well and truly in the wrong.'

'He's young,' said Roland. 'Don't forget that. In fact… Tranah, how old _is_ he, exactly?'

'Twenty-two,' said Tranah. 'I think.'

'You see?' said Roland. 'It's easy to forget, isn't it? He's hardly more than a boy. His own apprentices are only a year or so younger than him. It's only to be expected that he would act his age from time to time.'

'The trouble is,' said Tranah. 'I mean… I think the problem with him is that he's too powerful for his own good. The riders taught him fighting and magic and so on, but he never learned discipline. He just doesn't respect anyone enough for it. He's a law unto himself and, really, how is anyone ever going to bring him into line? I mean, he'll listen to you or I, Roland, but he's perfectly capable of ignoring us if he wants to.'

Roland's brow furrowed. 'Indeed you are right, Tranah, as always.'

'Yes,' said Orwyne. 'And it's so easy to forget, isn't it? He's so… well, most of the time I'm barely aware of how young he is. The way he speaks, the way he leads… they make you forget about it. But then he'll do something that suddenly reminds you that he's just a boy. When you told him off, Roland, I saw the look on his face. He looked like… well, like a young apprentice being lectured by his master. It was very disconcerting.'

'Indeed,' said Roland. 'And we would all be well-advised to keep an eye on him. It's our duty to make sure he doesn't forget himself, and keep him on track. If he makes a mistake, we must not hesitate to let him know it. Because if we let him lose his head again… well, next time he might not be so lucky. Sooner or later he's going to make a mistake that will have dire consequences for him, and for us as well. Unless we stop him.'

'I'm certain of it,' Tranah agreed.

'Well,' Orwyne said eventually. 'I'm sure we'll be able to keep him safe. He's not an idiot; he was listening to you, Roland, and I don't doubt he'll act on it.'

'I'll keep an eye on him,' Tranah promised.

They stayed together on the wall for a while, talking inconsequentially, and were eventually joined by Galbatorix. He emerged from a nearby door, leaning on his stick.

'Ah, there you are.'

'That's a nasty limp you've got there, sir,' said Roland. 'It's not a serious injury, is it?'

'Oh, no, it's just my back giving me trouble. I fell out of a tree a few years ago, and it bothers me every now and then. And hitting the castle wall like that didn't help much either.'

'A healing spell ought to take care of that,' said Roland. 'Remind me about it later. So, what news do you have for us, sir? Would you like us to depart today, or tomorrow, or…?'

'In a day or so,' said Galbatorix. 'When we've made some more detailed plans. I don't think you should all go at once; it wouldn't be good to have us all scattered like that. In the meantime, there's something else to see to. I forgot to mention it earlier, but if you'd like to come with me now… there's an old friend waiting for us in the dungeons.'

'Who?' said Tranah.

'My old mentor, Carina,' said Galbatorix. 'She came here a few days ago; she'd been sent to talk with Menulis. I tricked her into coming into the castle, and had one of the servants give her some drugged wine. I'll bet _that_ gave her a nasty hangover. Anyway, she's locked up right now, and I've got her dragon, Leaf, in one of the wine cellars underground.'

Tranah's eyes widened. 'Carina – good gods.'

'Yes, I believe you know her.'

'Well, of course I know her,' said Tranah. 'She's my sister.'

'Good gods,' said Roland. 'Really?'

'Yes, but I haven't seen her in years… she stopped talking to me after she found out about me and Strein. What are you going to do with her, sir?'

'I've been trying to persuade her to join us,' said Galbatorix. 'Without much luck so far. I was hoping if you would talk to her, she might change her mind.'

Tranah shook her head, grim-faced. 'I'm not sure she will. We haven't spoken in years, and the last time we did, it ended badly. She's very stubborn.'

'I know,' said Galbatorix. 'I tried everything. Persuasion, threats… I told her my real story, just like I told you, but she didn't believe me. I don't want to have to kill her, but if she won't join us, I won't have a choice.'

'I'll see what I can do,' said Tranah.

'Go to her, then,' said Galbatorix. 'It'll probably be best if you go alone. And Tranah… try and be strong. I know it won't be easy for you, but it's the best chance we have of getting her to help us.'

Tranah nodded. 'I'll do my best.'

She left for the dungeons, walking slowly.

There were two rows of cells in Gil'ead's dungeons; each one had a door of iron bars through which the occupant was clearly visible, and a wide corridor ran between them.

Carina was in the one at the end of the corridor, sitting on the stone bench provided with her head in her hands. Her wrists were chained together and her clothes were grubby, but she appeared to be unharmed.

Tranah stood on the other side of the door, watching her for a moment. 'Carina.'

Carina looked up sharply, and froze. 'Tranah?'

Tranah controlled herself with some effort. 'How are you, Carina?'

Carina got up and came to stand on the other side of the door. There was a large bruise on her face, and she reached through the bars toward her sister, who moved out of reach. 'Please, Tranah,' Carina said urgently. 'You've got to help me, I'm begging you. He's out of his mind.'

Tranah sighed. 'Waíse heill.' The bruise faded. 'Carina… I missed you, you know. Even after what happened.'

'Tranah,' said Carina. 'Please tell me… please, gods, tell me it's not true. Tell me it's a lie. You're not one of them, are you? I wouldn't believe it when they told me. It's a lie.'

Tranah looked back at her, stone-faced. 'It's true,' she said. 'I have joined the rebels, and so has Strein. We are Forsworn now.' She pulled her hair aside to show her sister her mutilated ears.

Carina shuddered and bowed her head. 'Oh gods, no. Please no.'

'Stop that,' said Tranah. 'What else would you expect, Carina? Did you think I would forget what the elders did to me, and to Strein too?'

'You've betrayed me,' Carina whispered, not looking up. 'You've betrayed-,'

'Yes,' Tranah interrupted. 'I have betrayed the elders. But I did it because I did not want to betray something far more important to me. If I had stayed loyal, it would have meant betraying myself. And I couldn't do that any more.'

'Because of _her?'_ Carina screeched. 'That vile harlot? You turned into a murderer for _her?'_

'For her, and for everyone the elders ever persecuted,' Tranah said coldly. 'For justice. Carina, you're my sister, and in spite of what you did to me I still love you. I don't want to see you die. For my sake… join us.'

Carina faltered. 'I can't. Tranah, please. I don't want to fight you. You have to get me out of here. Turn back to our side. I can understand if you're angry with the elders, but this isn't the answer. Can't you see what you've done? You've sold your soul to that monster. He's turned you into something you're not. You have to fight it, Tranah. For my sake, and yours.'

Tranah spat. 'And go back to working for _them?_ No, Carina. Never again. I would rather die. I've found a way for me, and it's the right way. You have to see that.'

Carina's gaze hardened. 'The traitors won't win this war. You know that, Tranah. If you stay with them, you'll die with them.'

'Then I'll die fighting for something that should be fought for,' said Tranah. 'Listen to me, Carina. For too long the elves have used the riders to do their bidding. For too long, they've treated humans like slaves. For too long they've persecuted and destroyed and used their supremacist ways to turn this country into a wasteland.'

'The riders have made mistakes, yes,' Carina admitted. 'But it's in the past. How is war going to fix that? You've killed so many people, and most of them were innocent. What you did at Osilon was unspeakable. How is cold-blooded murder going to make the world a better place?'

'Sometimes, war is the only answer,' said Tranah. 'And the elders are beyond reasoning with. We can't negotiate with them. They crush anyone who opposes them. Like me. Like Strein. Like Lord Galbatorix.'

'Tranah, he's out of his mind!' Carina shouted. 'Can't you see it? How can you be so deluded?'

Tranah hit her. 'Don't you dare say that about him,' she snarled. 'Or I'll tell him you chose death. You don't know anything about him.'

'I know what he did to the elf he took prisoner,' said Carina. 'I saw it. He was in the cell opposite me. I saw what the half-breed did to him. It was monstrous.'

Tranah hesitated. 'What was it?'

'He beat him,' said Carina. 'For hours. Chained him up and hit him, over and over again, trying to make him talk. In the end his whole face had swollen and his teeth were broken, but he still wouldn't talk. So the half-breed… he…'

'He did what?' said Tranah, suddenly uncertain.

'Broke into his mind,' Carina whispered. 'I saw him do it. Broke through his mental defences and tore the information out of him by force. Afterwards, when he had taken what he wanted… the elf had been driven insane. And then he killed him. Broke his neck with his bare hands.'

Tranah said nothing.

'Afterwards,' Carina resumed. 'Afterwards he told me that if I didn't join him, he'd do the same thing to me. Tell me, Tranah, is that how he got you to join him?'

Tranah was silent for a long time. Finally, she sighed and rubbed her head. 'I'll make this simple, Carina. You're not in a position to tell me what I should and should not do, and, frankly, you never were. You can keep on letting yourself be used as a tool for the elders' tyranny, or you can face the truth and fight back. I will ask Galbatorix to spare your life, but I can promise you that if you keep following the lies, you will suffer for it.'

Carina shook her head. 'The elders are the rightful rulers of this land, and I will not work for that madman. He'll lead you all to your deaths, Tranah.'

'He won't,' said Tranah. 'He's not mad, Carina. He's ten times the leader Vrael ever was. His cause his just. He's my master, and my friend. And if you can't see that… then you are no longer my sister.'

Carina turned away. 'Then so be it.'

That evening, the Forsworn ate together in the banqueting hall. Galbatorix had had the finest food prepared for them, and they ate heartily, none of them speaking much, all savouring the comforts of civilisation after so much time in the wilderness.

'So,' said Galbatorix, once the edge had been taken off their hunger. 'How did you go with your sister, Tranah?'

Tranah shook her head and drank deeply from her goblet of wine. 'She wouldn't listen. There's no way we can get her to join us, short of forcing her into it.'

'That wouldn't do,' said Roland. 'An ally who has been coerced into working for you is not the kind of help anyone wants.'

'Yes,' said Tranah. She looked warily at Galbatorix. 'And she told me what you did to that elf. You really shouldn't have let her watch.'

Galbatorix looked slightly guilty. 'Yes… I really should have thought of that, but all the other cells were full because I'd had a group of rebels arrested a few days earlier. And I thought that perhaps it would show her what happens to people I consider enemies.'

'I admit,' said Tranah. 'It shocked me. Breaking into his mind like that…'

'It was necessary,' said Galbatorix. 'He wouldn't talk, and I needed information. Sometimes cruelty is all that works. Besides,' he added dismissively. 'It was only an elf. I could have been a little more gentle with him, but he was strong in the mind, and I hadn't really tried it before, so perhaps I overdid it. Anyway, I would have killed him once he'd told me what I wanted to know, so it didn't really matter.'

'What did you do with him afterwards?' Strein enquired.

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Shruikan tells me he was quite tasty.'

Some of the others pulled faces. 'Galbatorix, how could you?' said Vander.

Galbatorix snickered. 'Well, he was hungry. I wouldn't let him go hunting in case something happened to him. Now then, to business…'

'Wait a moment,' said Tranah. 'What about Carina? You won't kill her, will you?'

Galbatorix sighed. 'There really isn't any point in keeping her alive. If she gets out she'll only cause trouble. But to be honest, I'm not sure I could bring myself to do it. It's hard… we've killed plenty of riders, but this is the first time I've had to fight one I knew personally. Carina's a good person; she doesn't deserve to die.'

'Let her live, then,' said Tranah. 'Please. Maybe she'll change her mind… after the war's over, if we win, we can send her into exile or something.'

'We could make her take an oath not to fight us and then let her go,' said Morzan.

'That's a thought,' said Galbatorix. 'But I'll bet she'll find some other way to get in our way. Anyway, we'll leave her be for the time being. We can always use her as a hostage, if we have to fight here. That reminds me, actually. All of you… if we're going to win the war, we need more allies. So next time you go to fight, keep that in mind. If someone surrenders, if you can beat them without killing them, if there's any chance that you can capture rather than kill, then take it.'

'Yes, sir,' said Tranah.

'A good idea,' Roland added. 'Could someone pass me that dish of plums, please? Thankyou. Now, the matter of these other cities. Orwyne and I are prepared to leave as soon as you wish. When would you like us to go?'

Galbatorix paused to mull it over for a while. 'The sooner the better, I think. We'll take Dras-Leona first because it's the bigger city. While you're doing that, Morzan and I will go to the Spine and deal with this new dragon leader. The rest of you will stay here. How does that sound?'

'Should work,' said Morzan.

'In the meantime,' said Galbatorix, 'I've a way to keep in touch with you while I'm gone. I've been talking to Durza. He's only a day or so away; he'll be with us soon. I'll leave him here with you, and he can contact me if anything goes wrong.'

Roland and Orwyne exchanged glances. 'I am not sure I like the idea, sir,' said Roland.

Galbatorix sighed. 'Look, for the last time, it's _safe._ He's a Shade, yes, but he's obedient to me. If I tell him to stay here and do what you tell him to, then that's what he'll do. And to be honest, he'll probably be easier to deal with than a human helper. He never eats, never sleeps, and never complains. Humans are tricky to deal with, but Shades aren't. Their minds are really very simple, when you get right down to it, and once you know how they think the rest is easy. As for the Ra'zac, it seems the eggs have hatched. The parents have metamophosed into their winged form. Lethrblaka, I think they're called. I didn't fancy the idea of having them hanging around here, so I told Durza to send them North. I'm sure they won't have many qualms about living off elf-flesh. Humans are a bit stringy, apparently.'

The others chuckled, a little uneasily.

'Any port in a storm, I suppose,' said Orwyne. 'Speaking of which, could someone pass me that bottle? Thanks.'

'Anyway, so Morzan and I will see what we can do about the dragons,' Galbatorix resumed. 'I'm fairly sure I know how to find him – he would have become the leader by beating Thornessa in a fight and taking her territory. Territory is what dragons respect, and the leader has the best one.'

'You'll have to be careful,' said Tranah. 'I've visited that place in the past; it's right in the middle of their territory. If the wild dragons decide to attack… you'll be in trouble.'

'Don't worry,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll have Shruikan with me, don't forget. I intend to show the dragons I mean business. The storm will scare them. They won't dare fly after us while we've got that, and Shruikan's getting better at controlling it all the time. If I have to, I can intimidate this new leader into helping us, or at least warn him that if he sends any of his race after us they'll be up against Shruikan's power. He won't like that at all.'

'They won't like Shruikan at all,' said Vander. 'You'd be well advised to use a spell on him to change his colour. If they see you riding a black dragon…'

'Why does that matter?' said Gern.

'Black dragons aren't common, Gern,' said Vander. 'In fact, until I saw Shruikan, I thought they didn't exist. But other dragons believe they're evil. So do elves.'

'Really?' said Tuomas.

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'And that is why Shruikan and I are such a good match. And frankly, I don't care what the wild dragons think of him, and neither does he. We both decided not to lie about what we are.'

'That's all very well, but don't delude yourself,' said Roland. 'They'll hate you.'

Galbatorix did not waver. 'Let them hate me, as long as they fear me.'

'Oh, they will,' said Roland. 'There's no doubt about that.'

They spent much of that night making plans, studying maps, discussing strategies. They did so with considerable confidence; most of them had done this several times before, and this time they were at a considerable advantage. They had a good stronghold, access to proper maps and records, and better still, this time their attack would come, literally, out of the blue. A search of the armoury turned up several suits of dragon battle-armour, and an entire cellar full of fire-bombs, each one ready to be used.

Perfect. Armour was found that would fit Keth and Ymazu, although Orwyne's dragon Calanon had to go without. Roland, Vander and Orwyne found armour for themselves too, and once they had suited up they prepared five firebombs – two each for Keth and Calanon, and one for the smaller Ymazu. With these, they could devastate the castle at Dras-Leona, and hopefully kill the enemy riders there.

Galbatorix and Morzan were also ready to go. They had managed to find armour that fitted both Shruikan and Idün as well, and once they had put this on and packed a few essentials, it was time to leave. Galbatorix found a fine set of steel armour for himself, choosing to wear it under his robe and leave off the helmet. Once this was done, he went up onto the dragon roost with Morzan. Roland, Orwyne and Vander were already there, along with their dragons, and the others had come to see them off.

Galbatorix shook Roland's hand. 'Good luck, Roland. And you, Orwyne, and you, Vander. Go in carefully, stick to the plan, and I'm sure everything will be fine.'

'And good luck to you, too, sir,' said Roland. 'Be cautious and try not to antagonise this dragon leader any more than is necessary. I'm sure you'll be able to manage the situation effectively.'

'I'll do my best,' said Galbatorix. 'Oh yes, could you see to my back before you go? I don't want it to suddenly give out on me in the middle of a fight or something.' He handed his walking stick to Kaelyn and straightened up, wincing slightly.

'Not a problem,' said Roland. He held out a hand and recited a healing spell. Gold light shimmered over Galbatorix, and his back made an unpleasant cracking sound. He winced and rubbed it, then sighed as the light faded away.

'Is that better?' said Roland.

Galbatorix flexed his shoulders experimentally. 'Ah, that's much better. Thankyou. Now, we'd better be going.' He turned to Tranah, Strein, and the three junior riders. 'As for the rest of you… Tranah, you're in charge. Keep an eye on my apprentices and make sure they don't get into any trouble. Watch out for Durza; make sure he gets into the castle without anyone identifying him. That's imperative. We don't want people realising there's a Shade about; they'll probably panic. Be respectful to him, but tell him my orders to him are to obey you as he would me. I've already told him that myself, but make sure you remind him of it. Don't tell him any more than you have to, but listen to his advice. If you have any visitors – other riders, messengers from Ilirea… you _must_ not let them escape from here. Kill them or take them prisoner – I'd prefer it if you captured them, but kill them if that's not possible. Lock them up, keep a close watch on them. Don't hesitate to interrogate them, but don't tell them I'm not here… in fact, don't tell them anything. Even if you know them. Even if they're a friend. Don't try and recruit them; leave that to me. If you're attacked… fight back. I'm sure you'll know how to organise yourselves. Be ruthless, take advantage of owning the castle, don't be afraid to get the locals to help you. If they want us to set them free, then they'd better be prepared to fight for us. And contact me immediately. I'll probably be back in less than a day, but if I don't come back, you're not to come looking for me. If I get into trouble, I'll let you know immediately. If I don't contact you, assume the worst but don't panic. I'll do everything in my power to get back to you, but I can't make any promises.'

'Don't you worry about him,' Morzan put in. 'I'll be with him. And this time, I ain't gonna let him out of my sight.'

'Not to worry, Morzan,' said Galbatorix. 'I have no intention of disappearing again. Now, let's be off.' He inclined his head toward Tranah and climbed onto Shruikan's back. The black dragon was fully armoured, his neck and tail covered in jointed metal plates and his flanks and legs protected by more of them. His head was covered by a huge helmet, its brow covered with silver spikes, and the sheath on the very end of his tail was encrusted with more spikes. It managed to achieve the seemingly impossible task of making him look even more intimidating than before, and as Galbatorix strapped himself into the saddle it was hard to feel frightened for him – with Shruikan beside him, he would be very well protected indeed.

Morzan, Roland, Orwyne and Vander had also mounted their dragons, and they bid farewell to their friends before the five of them flew away. Keth, Calanon and Ymazu swooped down over the outer walls to snatch up the firebombs that had been placed there for them, and they soared straight up to lose themselves among the clouds before they began to head South, where Dras-Leona awaited them.

Shruikan and Idün were quick to follow. They, however, went West, toward the Spine.

Tranah and the others watched them until they had disappeared.

Tranah sighed. 'We may as well go inside now,' she said. 'Come on.'

'D'you think we'll ever see them again?' said Gern.

'We will,' said Tuomas. 'And Roland will win. The Three Peaks are right outside Dras-Leona. They'll protect him.'

Gern and Kaelyn gave him odd looks.

'What?' said Tuomas, a little sulkily. 'They will.'

'You believe in the Three Peaks?' said Kaelyn.

'Yes,' said Tuomas. 'I mean… I think I do. Roland's been teaching me about it. He said that if we win the war, the first thing he's going to do is rebuild the Cathedral. So the faithful can worship again, without being persecuted. He said the old Cathedral was a beautiful thing… I hope I get to see the new one some day.'

'If we survive,' said Gern.

'We will,' said Tuomas. 'If we believe.'

'We will if we _fight,'_ said Kaelyn. 'And if we never give up.'

Gern rolled his eyes. 'I wish you'd stop saying stuff like that. It's really annoying.'

Despite herself, Tranah laughed. 'Gern, that's not very nice.'

Everyone there expected Kaelyn to stalk off or to shout at Gern, but she did neither. Instead she sighed and walked to the edge of the roost, staring at the horizon a long way away. Finally, she turned to Tranah. 'Is there anything you'd like me to do, my Lady?' she asked, in a very different voice than her usual one. 'I mean, something to help? I could guard the cells, maybe, or keep watch on the walls. Sartago can help me with that.'

Tranah blinked. 'Uh… well, yes, if you could take sentry duty, that would be very helpful. Tuomas, you stay up here with her. Gern, you can come with Strein and me. We'll need a hand down below. Kaelyn, Tuomas – keep a close eye out for any sign of Durza. He'll come to the West gate when he arrives; if you see him coming, one of you should go down to meet him. The other will send someone to tell me. Understood?'

'Yes, my Lady,' said Kaelyn. She waited while Sartago flew up to the roost, and let him carry her to the Westernmost wall, where she took her place among the ordinary guards already stationed there. Tuomas went to the Easternmost wall, and Tranah, Strein and Gern climbed back down through the trapdoor and into the castle.

Shruikan and Idün flew steadily in spite of the weight of their armour and, after a few hours in the air, the Spine came into sight. They reached it at around midday, and stopped to rest on the outskirts.

Galbatorix paced around among the trees at the edge of the mountains, letting his legs unstiffen. 'Right,' he said. 'This is where it gets dangerous. Before we do anything else, we're going to go hunting. We need to take an offering to the dragon leader, preferably something good – a deer, perhaps.'

Morzan yawned. 'Let the dragons do it. Idün said she's willing.'

'Fine. But you and I will go as well. We want to get this done quickly; I don't fancy being in the Spine at night.'

Morzan grumbled a little over this, but took his bow and loped off among the trees while Idün and Shruikan flew off. Galbatorix walked out of the forest and cautiously entered the outskirts of a nearby farm. There, keeping well out of sight of anyone who might be about, he found and killed a cow, carrying it back to the shelter of the trees with the use of magic. Morzan joined him a short time later, carrying a brace of pheasants, and an hour later Shruikan and Idün also returned, the first one bearing a deer, but the other empty-clawed. Idün took up the cow, and they were ready to leave again.

As they flew up and over the edge of the mountains, Shruikan sighed and began to unleash his magic. Galbatorix didn't need to help him much any more; the black dragon was becoming steadily more confident with it all the time. In less than ten minutes, the sky blackened and the clouds became thicker and darker. Lightning started to crackle around their edges, white as Shruikan's wings.

Up ahead, among the dark crags of the Spine, they could see wild dragons rising out of their territories, each one big and menacing. Roars echoed among the stone, challenging the intruders, and they could already see a few jets of flame. Shruikan roared back, and, as he did so, thunder crashed overhead. It melded with his call, making it sound somehow more powerful and a thousand times more threatening. The storm-clouds spread away ahead of them, and a powerful wind gathered itself under Shruikan's wings, propelling him forward. On his back, Galbatorix felt the wind whip through his hair and tug at his robe, making it flap like a banner, snagging on Shruikan's armour. He held on tightly and let the fierce thrill of the black dragon's magic move through him, making him feel invincible.

Sure enough, as they passed over the mountains, swept along by the power of the storm, the wild dragons retreated. They flew straight downward, back to the shelter of their homes, many of them snarling in rage and fear but none daring to fly. Shruikan roared mockingly back. Ahead, they could see the large canyon where the leader of the wild dragons had his territory. Halfway down a cliff inside it was the large cave where he lived, and they could already hear deep, echoing roars coming from inside it.

Shruikan came down to land on the plateau above it, placing his offering on the stone in front of him. Idün landed beside him and placed her own burden down beside the cow. Galbatorix and Morzan dismounted and stood side-by-side between the two dragons, waiting. Moments later, there was a deafening roar and a rushing of wings, and a big male dragon flew up over the cliff and landed in front of them, snarling and aggressive.

'Don't move,' Galbatorix told Morzan. 'Keep your sword sheathed.'

He stepped forward slightly, and bowed low to the leader of dragons, who had noticed the offerings and was sniffing at them suspiciously.

Galbatorix stood silently and waited.

The dragon leader, who was in fact only a little bigger than Shruikan and who had flame-orange scales, looked up at them all. He took in Shruikan, tensing immediately when he saw his black scales. Then he looked at Galbatorix. He stretched his neck forward, golden eyes glaring straight at him. Galbatorix kept still and let the orange dragon scent him, but as he looked back at him, he had a strange feeling of familiarity.

It was more or less at the same moment that they recognised each other.

The orange dragon backed away, his jaws opening in a snarl. _'You!'_

Galbatorix's heart skipped a beat. 'Kullervo?'

The orange dragon reared onto his hind legs, and roared. Instantly, Shruikan sprang forward. He attacked the other dragon, hitting him directly in the chest, and before Galbatorix could make any move to interfere the two of them were fighting. Kullervo wrapped his forelegs around Shruikan's neck, trying to get a grip on him, but his claws scraped off the solid metal plates, denting but not penetrating them. Shruikan swung his tail around, smacking Kullervo in the flank with his spiked tail and tearing through his scales. For a few moments they shoved at each other, trying to sink their teeth into each other's throats and spitting flame before Kullervo suddenly broke away and leapt from the top of the cliff. He swung around in midair and came hurtling back, but instead of heading for the clifftop and Shruikan he angled downward and vanished back into his cave.

'Godsdammit!' Galbatorix swore. He ran to the edge of the cliff, ignoring the snarling Shruikan, and jumped off it into space. He neatly caught the lip of the cave as he fell past it, and pulled himself inside with scarcely a pause.

The cave was bigger than he'd expected. Inside was Kullervo, already lifting his head to spit flame at him, and, behind him, was another, much larger dragon – a dragon he recognised, who came rushing to Kullervo's side.

Galbatorix dodged Kullervo's flame, and in the blink of an eye he sent his own magic back. It enveloped both dragons with smothering black energy, and even as Shruikan and Idün flew in, they fell, hitting the cave floor with a deafening thud.

Galbatorix stood still for a few moments, his hand still outstretched, back heaving. Morzan jumped down from Idün's back and ran to his side, drawing his sword.

'It's all right,' Galbatorix told him harshly. 'They can't fight.'

Kullervo lay on his belly, his wings twitching. He was still conscious, and his golden eyes glared up at Galbatorix, full of burning hatred. Beside him, his brown-scaled mate hissed as she tried to get up, but the paralysing spell had numbed her limbs and she could not move.

Galbatorix sighed and strode forward. He halted just in front of Kullervo's snout, and there he knelt and bowed his head. 'My Lord Kullervo,' he said. 'Please forgive me. I have no intention of hurting you; I will lift the spell before I leave.'

'Betrayer!' Kullervo rasped, baring his teeth. 'Murderer!'

Galbatorix ignored him. 'My Lord Kullervo,' he said. 'I haven't introduced myself properly… I am Galbatorix Taranisäii, of Teirm, and this is my friend, Morzan Drasborn. These dragons are Idün, and Shruikan, my partner.'

Kullervo's eyes turned toward Shruikan, who stayed by the entrance, watching him balefully. 'The black dragon… gods help me…'

'_Look_ at him, my Lord,' Galbatorix urged. 'Look at his eyes, Kullervo. Don't you recognise him? He's your brother.'

Both Shruikan and Kullervo started.

'I have no brother,' Kullervo snarled. 'Take your lies elsewhere, human.'

'You have a brother,' Galbatorix insisted. 'And two sisters. Your father was Ravana, wasn't he? And your mother, Silarae. They were Shruikan's parents too. He told me.'

Shruikan came forward and sniffed at Kullervo, and for a moment the two dragons examined each other. Close to, it was easy to see the resemblance between them. The same burning gold eyes, the same six-horned head, brutal face and jutting lower canines.

'Shruikan is my partner,' said Galbatorix. 'If you attack me, you attack him. If I die, he dies. But we don't need to fight. We could be friends, you and I. We could work together to set the country free.'

Kullervo snarled at him. 'You killed Einás. You killed my rider.'

'I didn't know,' Galbatorix lied. 'I didn't know she was your rider, I swear. I had come to Ilirea looking for you. Your sister, Skade – I met her, up North near a place called Carvahall. She told me about you, and about Einás as well. How Einás betrayed her to the elders. They hurt her, Kullervo. They cursed her. She nearly died because of what they did to her. I came to find you and tell you she was all right, and to punish Einás for what she did. She was one of them, Kullervo. She was one of the elders. She helped them do what they did to Skade. She deserved to die.'

'_LIAR!_' Kullervo roared, fighting back furiously against the magic that bound him. 'Liar! Murderer! You killed Einás! You took her away from me, you tortured me, you destroyed me! I'll kill you!'

Galbatorix could see he was losing control of the situation. He knelt, placing his hands on Kullervo's snout, and looked into the dragon's eyes, willing him to be calm. 'I know it hurts, Kullervo,' he said urgently. 'I know what it feels like. I understand how it is, I swear. I lost my partner too, the elders took her away from me. They must be punished, Kullervo. They're traitors, they destroyed both our lives. You must help me. For Skade's sake, and Shruikan's. You're angry at the world, you want to make others feel your pain. Then join us. Fight back against the elders. They enslaved your race, Kullervo, and they enslaved mine too. What happened to you is their fault, and what happened to Skade as well.'

Kullervo sighed. 'Skade,' he said eventually. 'Where is she? What did they do to her?'

Galbatorix hesitated, and then reached into the orange dragon's mind. He broke down his mental defences as gently as he could, and showed him his memories of Skade. He showed him an image of her as an elf, her face marked with faint scars inflicted by her own claws. He let Kullervo see a picture of the two of them by the stream, the ragged boy holding onto the silver-haired elf as she sobbed into his robe. He showed other memories; them talking, walking together, Skade's misery, and his own, but also the trust and affection that had grown between them. Wandering through these memories and reliving them as Kullervo saw them, he was unable to hide the feeling of deep love and joy that went with them in his mind. And then, quite without meaning to, he showed Kullervo an image of their first kiss. Kullervo's mind recoiled instantly, radiating horror, but Galbatorix forced him to remain calm, and showed him the other memories; Skade's declaration of love, and his own, the lifting of the curse, and their last farewell in the shadows outside Ilirea, the same night Einás died.

Galbatorix withdrew, and saw Kullervo looking at him, his eyes full of revulsion.

'That was the last time I saw her,' he said quietly. 'She has gone over the sea to find your father, Kullervo. And I promised her that I would find you and keep you safe.'

He fell silent and stood up, backing away but without taking his eyes off Kullervo. His piece was said, and he waited for the orange dragon to respond.

For a long time, Kullervo said nothing. He looked at Galbatorix, and at Shruikan, and at Morzan and Idün as well. His expression remained dragonish and unreadable, but then, quite suddenly, his eyes glistened and two large tears slowly trickled down over his scales.

'It's all right, Kullervo,' Galbatorix said quietly. 'Skade trusted me, just as I have trusted you. No-one but you, her and I know about what happened. I promised her that when she returned, she would return to a free Alagaësia. One where I would be waiting for her, and you too. I am not your enemy, Kullervo, so don't force me to be.'

'The prophecy,' Kullervo whispered at last. 'The prophecy has come true.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'What prophecy?'

Kullervo's eyes closed. '"_When a dark dragon hatches, upon a cursed day, and when his soul does bond, with that of dark-souled man, then will come our darkness, and blood rain from the sky."'_ He opened his eyes again, and looked at Shruikan, and then at Galbatorix. 'You are that man,' he said. 'Shruikan is that dragon. You have brought evil to the world. Now, we shall all die.'

Galbatorix stared at him for a moment, and then laughed coldly. 'A piece of old poetry can't tell me what to do, and nothing ever will. Only I do that. There's no such thing as fate, Kullervo. We choose our own destinies. I've chosen mine, and now it's time for you to choose yours. For your brother's sake, and your sister's… choose wisely.'

Kullervo looked at Shruikan, appealing to him with his eyes. Shruikan stared back coldly. Finally, the leader of dragons looked away. 'If Shruikan has bonded himself to you, then he is no longer my brother. And if Skade…' he shuddered softly. 'If Skade told you to kill Einás, then she is no longer my sister. Leave here, traitor, and never come back.'

Galbatorix looked at him sadly. 'Then you leave me with no choice.'

He stepped around Kullervo, walking past him and his brown-scaled mate, who was none other than Thornessa herself. Thornessa snarled and tried wildly to get at him. 'NO!' she screamed. 'Please, no!'

Galbatorix ignored her. He went to the back wall of the cave, where a heap of dried wood had been built. Nestled in the middle of it were three eggs. He picked up the uppermost one, which had a ruby-red shell, and walked back to stand by Shruikan.

'_STOP!_' Kullervo bellowed. 'No, gods, no! You monster!'

Galbatorix held up the egg so that both dragons could see it. 'On my honour as a rider,' he said, using the ancient language. 'I swear that I will not harm your child. But if you or any of your race attacks me or any of my allies, or if they help my enemies in any way, I swear that I will crush this egg into pieces. And if that is not enough, I will attack the wild dragons, and I will kill as many of them as I have to.' He stared coldly at Kullervo and Thornessa. 'That is my promise,' he said, and tucked the red egg away inside his robe. 'Goodbye, Kullervo. If you change your mind, come to me and tell me so, and I will give you your egg back. Until then, I will keep it safe.'

He climbed onto Shruikan's back, glancing at Morzan to do the same. Idün took off, and Shruikan walked toward the entrance, spreading his wings in readiness to follow. Before they left, man and dragon looked back at Kullervo.

'The spell should wear off in an hour or so,' Galbatorix said softly. 'I'm sorry, Kullervo. But you forced me to do it.'

Moments later, they were gone.


	43. Rider's Bane

Chapter Forty-Three

Rider's Bane

Shruikan and Idün flew back toward Gil'ead as the sun set, their armour glinting in the reddish light from the horizon.

Morzan made mental contact with Galbatorix. _'That didn't go so well, did it?'_ he said once Galbatorix had let him in.

'_Not as well as I'd hoped, no,'_ Galbatorix agreed.

'_Who's Einás?'_ said Morzan. _'He didn't mean that old elf what looked after the eggs, did he?'_

'_Yes, he did. She was his rider, you see. You heard the news about what she did, didn't you?'_

Morzan thought about it. _'Didn't she run off or something?'_

'_That's right. She had a wild dragon, Skade, living with her in secret. When the Queen found out, she… well, I don't know exactly what happened, but it seems Skade attacked her. It was the day I left Ellesméra, after I got my sword. Einás and Skade ran away. When I was in Teirm, I got an order from Vrael to arrest them if I saw them. It seems they caught up with them eventually, and Einás sold Skade to them to save her own sorry hide. Skade was cursed with magic – they turned her into an elf, because she hated them so much. I met her out there, in the wilderness, around the time when I met Durza. What happened to her nearly destroyed her. After Rangda and Durza lifted the curse, Skade carried me to Ilirea – she helped me because she hated the elders as much as I did. I found Einás and Kullervo hiding in the forest, and I killed Einás. Unfortunately Kullervo had bonded himself to her, and I didn't realise it until it was too late.'_

Morzan shivered. _'No wonder he hated you so much, then.'_

'_Yes… and I wish it wasn't like that. Taking his egg was a cowardly tactic, but it'll work. Dragons are very protective of their young. And he won't want to fight Shruikan, no matter what he said. Even if he won't agree to help us, he'll be just as unlikely to agree to help the elders – after all, they persecuted both him and his sister. His rider, too.'_

'_Yeh, we got lucky there, din't we?'_ said Morzan.

'_A little. But not as lucky as I'd like.'_

They flew on in silence, all tired, and by midnight they were within sight of Gil'ead.

'_I see it,'_ said Shruikan. _'But…'_ he trailed off uncertainly.

'_What is it, Shruikan?'_

Shruikan tensed beneath him. _'They're being attacked,'_ he said.

'_Godsdammit! Morzan, can Idün see anything?'_

A few moments later, Morzan replied with; _'Yeah! There's other riders… she can see 'em in the air over the city. An' there's people on the ground, too.'_

'_Right,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Get ready. Shruikan and I will go ahead. Go for the riders, take them out, take them by surprise.'_

'_Gotcha.'_

The moon was high overhead, and it lit the scene over Gil'ead brightly. And below, too… there was light.

Gil'ead was aflame. Bright fire turned the air red, and they could hear the panicked screams of the civilians below. Diving and wheeling in the thick black smoke above were the riders – their dragons armoured for battle.

Galbatorix's heart leapt into his mouth. 'Oh gods above,' he groaned.

One of the dragons attacking the city was huge and ancient, its scales gleaming gold. On his back, Galbatorix could make out the slim form of a pale-haired elf… Oromis.

But his fear and shock did not last long. His face hardened, and he reached into Shruikan's mind. _'Go for him,'_ he said.

The black dragon did not hesitate. He dropped out of the sky, head-first, his forelegs stretched out ahead of him, claws spread wide. He smashed straight into Glaedr's neck and wrapped himself bodily around it, claws ripping at the gap between the armour plates that covered it. Galbatorix managed to cling on as the huge gold dragon bucked wildly in the sky, bellowing.

Glaedr flew in a wide circle, trying to shake Shruikan off, but the smaller dragon would not let go. Galbatorix twisted in the saddle, and found himself facing Oromis. The old elf stared at him, his face hardening into an expression of pure and utter hatred. 'Murderer! Traitor! Half-breed dark elvish filth!'

Galbatorix said nothing. He hurled his magic directly at Oromis, as powerfully and recklessly as he dared. Oromis blocked and counter-attacked, and, an instant later, a powerful shockwave smacked into Galbatorix, making his teeth rattle in his head. Another dragon had rushed at Glaedr, hitting him in the chest. Glaedr, barely managing to keep himself in the air, screamed and lashed out with his foreclaws at this new threat. His attacker, a large red dragon, swung around to make another assault on him. Glaedr grabbed at her with one massive foreclaw and, quite by accident, he caught her around the middle, pinning her wings. The red dragon struggled, but Glaedr, realising what had happened, squeezed her tightly, making her ribs crack.

Moments later, a high, piercing scream split the air. It came from both Oromis and Glaedr simultaneously. Galbatorix risking a glance down, saw the red dragon go tumbling down toward the city. At the last moment she managed to force her wings to unfurl, and swooped back upward on an updraft, narrowly avoiding the bloody, severed foreleg that had nearly killed her.

And Glaedr screamed. He spiralled wildly in the air, thrashing his wings desperately, while on his back Oromis groaned and clutched at his arm, feeling the gold dragon's pain.

Galbatorix didn't waste a moment. He took his opportunity, reached out, and ruthlessly punched through Oromis' mental defences. Without hesitating for even a second, he let his mind tear through that of the old elf, plunging through layers of memory and knowledge to the deeper, more primal thing that lay beneath. When he reached that, he struck it as hard as he could and snapped back out into his own mind.

Shruikan let go of Glaedr's neck and flew hastily out of the way, but there was no more threat from either him or his rider. The big gold dragon fell from the sky, his wounded stump gushing blood, Oromis slumped unconscious in the saddle. They hit the outer wall of the city, utterly destroying it.

Galbatorix didn't pause to savour this victory. There were three other enemy riders still in the air, grappling with Tranah, Strein, and the three apprentices. Idün had landed in the city so Morzan could heal her wounds, and Galbatorix reached out to her mentally. _'Idün, help me. I'm going to attack the troops outside the walls.'_

Without waiting for a reply, he urged Shruikan to head for the land outside the city, where at least two hundred elvish, human and dwarvish troops were trying to break in. They were already rushing to help Oromis.

Shruikan descended on them, killing dozens of them with a blast of fire before he landed, scattering more of them with his claws and tail. Arrows bounced harmlessly off his armour, and Galbatorix vaulted out of the saddle, landing on Glaedr's neck. He let Shruikan rush to attack the army, and ran nimbly over the gold dragon's armoured shoulder and up to where Oromis hung limply from the saddle. He spread his hands over the old elf and wove a spell that would lock his magic and telepathy away from him, and once this was done he cut the straps holding him in the saddle and lifted him onto his shoulder. He proved surprisingly light. Holding him like this, Galbatorix prodded at Glaedr's mind. He was alive and still conscious – barely. Galbatorix paralysed him with another spell, and then slid down his flank and onto the ground, landing inside the city. He ran off through the streets, carrying Oromis with him and ruthlessly killing any enemy troops who got in his way. Unable to use his sword because of his burden, he used magic or mental attack, and reached the castle not long later. The gates were still firmly locked, but he opened a side-door with magic and entered the castle, locking it behind him.

He dashed down into the dungeons, where Carina stared through her cell door in mingled shock and fear, and there unceremoniously dumped Oromis on the floor of an unoccupied cell, making sure he would be well out of her sight. He locked him inside, pocketed the key, and ran off as fast as he could go, up an endless flight of stairs which eventually led him onto the battlements. From there, he had a perfect view of everything that was happening.

The enemy's troops were entering the city, climbing over Glaedr's body to get through the breach in the wall. The city's own troops were driving them back, aided by Morzan, while Idün and Shruikan attacked those who were still outside. One of the enemy riders was dead, and Tranah and Strein were fighting the second while Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn pursued the third.

Galbatorix stood still, watching all this happen and trying to decide where his help would be most valuable. He reached out with his mind, intending to contact Tranah and let her know her was there, and suddenly realised that the enemy rider she was grappling with was within mental range. He gritted his teeth and attacked. He was too far away to properly break into the other rider's mind, but he did the next best thing and struck him with a blast of mental force, destroying his defences. He felt the other rider recoil and panic and then, most horribly, he felt him die. Aedua and Talziri, seeing the dragon begin to fall, took hold of her wings and roughly dragged her away from the city so that she landed on the attacking army instead. That left only one. This last rider, seeing his companions dead, struck Leahdorus a blow that sent her tumbling backward through the air and made a run for it.

The was a rush of air, and Shruikan came down to land on the battlement beside his rider. Galbatorix heaved himself into the saddle, and the black dragon went in pursuit of the fleeing rider.

Galbatorix did not have time to do up the leg-straps. He held onto Shruikan's neck and stared intently ahead at the enemy rider. He was too tired by this time to try and break into his mind, so he simply launched a magical weapon at the dragon. It hit him in the hindquarters, instantly crippling him, and a second later Shruikan smacked into him. The black dragon's claws hit the other dragon's back, making his armour crumple. For a moment the two of them wrestled in midair, before Galbatorix hit the dragon's wing with a spell, severing it. A second attack took out the rider, who died almost instantly.

Without waiting to watch their enemy fall, Shruikan wheeled around and flew back toward the city. There they found that Morzan had led an assault on the ground troops which, backed up by Tranah and the rest of the Forsworn, had decimated them. The survivors broke and fled when they saw Shruikan coming, and in what felt like no time at all the battle was over.

Galbatorix was reunited with his friends by Glaedr's still-bleeding form.

Tranah, blood-stained and exhausted, clapped him on the shoulder. 'Good to see you back, sir.'

Galbatorix breathed deeply and looked around at the others. Morzan's shoulder had an arrow embedded in it, but apart from that he looked fine. Kaelyn was leaning on Sartago's flank, too tired to even look up, Gern was busy healing the deep claw-marks in Leadorus' flank, Tuomas had an unpleasant burn on the side of his face, and Strein had actually fallen asleep in the saddle, evidently worn out from having used so much magic in such a short time. But they were alive, and they had won.

'Thank gods we showed up when we did,' said Galbatorix. 'What the hell happened?'

Tranah shook her head helplessly. 'The news had got out somehow. Kaelyn and Tuomas were keeping watch, and they saw the bastards coming. We barely had enough time to armour up and warn the city. Next moment they were on us.'

'Damn!' Morzan swore. He wrenched at the arrow, and managed to remove it. 'Waíse heill. Well, this ain't good.'

'But it's not too bad, either,' said Galbatorix. 'We've got Oromis. He's in the dungeons.'

Tranah gaped at him. 'He is? Good gods. I thought he must be dead when I saw Glaedr, but-,'

'Glaedr's not dead, either. Just paralysed. Yes, we've got Oromis. I've taken his magic away from him. He's not going anywhere.'

'That's perfect,' said Tranah. 'Absolutely perfect. We've got the absolute best hostage we could ever ask for. Damn well done, sir.'

'It wasn't just me,' said Galbatorix. 'Morzan was the one who put a stop to Glaedr.'

Morzan nodded. 'That's right. Took his damn leg off with magic. Bastard was crushing us.'

'Well, let's not waste time,' said Galbatorix. 'We've got to move Glaedr out of the way and fix this wall. Come on.'

They moved Glaedr away from the broken wall using a combination of magic and the dragons, who had to work as a team. Once the gold dragon was out of the way, Galbatorix cast more spells on him to ensure that he wouldn't escape and then went to help his friends with the wall. They lifted the stones back into place as well as they could using magic, though many of them had been shattered by Glaedr's impact.

'That's have to do,' said Galbatorix, leaning against the reconstructed wall and wiping the sweat off his forehead. 'We'll have to set some people to fix it properly. In the meantime, we'd better go into the city and see what we can do to clean things up. No doubt there'll be people needing healing and so on.'

The dragons gladly flew away back up to the castle walls to get some rest, and their riders returned to the city via the nearest gate. Inside, they found that the fire was still burning and had already consumed several buildings. They managed to put it out by conjuring some artificial rain, and after that it was simply a matter of moving through the city, killing any enemy soldiers that still remained, helping rescue people from collapsed buildings and healing anyone who needed it.

By the time dawn came, every single one of them was ready to collapse from exhaustion, but there was still more work left to do. Galbatorix wearily directed a group of volunteers to gather up the bodies of the enemy troops that had died and pile them up outside the walls where they would be burned. He himself, assisted by Morzan and Strein, retrieved the bodies of the three dead riders and their dragons. These were laid out not far away from the pile of dead elves, dwarves and humans. Galbatorix took their swords and had Gern take them to the castle, and then set about reciting the funeral rites. He said them three times, once for each rider, and finished by lighting the black fire over each one. Afterwards he gathered up the ashes and placed them in three urns, marking each one with the name of the rider. Once he had also given the rites to the ordinary troops and overseen the lighting of the bonfire around them, he took the urns back to the castle and stacked them neatly in the audience chamber. While the others saw to the dragons, he sat down at a small writing table and composed a brief letter that would accompany the three urns to Ilirea.

_To my Lord Vrael,_

_These urns contain the mortal remains of Elric Ilireaborn, Rickon Karstark and Leolis of Sílthrim. I am returning them to you as a courtesy, so that they may be laid to rest in the vaults beneath the city. Be ye also ready._

_Galbatorix Taranisäii_

He sealed it with the emblem of the House of Taranis and put it on top of one of the urns.

A few minutes later, he and the rest of the Forsworn convened in the dining hall.

'The first thing we have to do is prepare the city for another attack,' Galbatorix said immediately. 'They'll be sending more people after us any day now. Also, the attack on Teirm must take place immediately or be called off. If there's another attack here, we'll need as many of us present as possible. But Roland will also have to be contacted, and soon. If he's managed to take Dras-Leona, it's imperative that the elders know about it. If they're forced to attack on two fronts at once, their forces will be stretched thin. What do you suggest, Tranah?'

Tranah took a while to think it over. 'I agree that we'd be well advised to make them spread out. There aren't too many riders left working for them by now, but the less of them we have in one place the better.'

'I got an idea,' said Morzan.

'I'm listening,' said Galbatorix.

'I'll attack Teirm,' said Morzan. 'I'll take a bunch of soldiers from here with me an', I dunno, maybe Strein to help. I reckon we could take it.'

Galbatorix considered it. 'It's true that there's only two other riders there right now, and a possible third. You could well succeed. I suggest that you take Durza with you, when he gets here. He's a very powerful fighter and could probably beat a rider.'

Strein looked dubious at this, but Morzan said; 'Yeah, sure, I got no problems with that. The freak's better at magic than I am. He did a good job here when we rescued Gern an' the rest. I'll take him along. Idün won't mind.'

'It could work,' said Tranah. 'But we need more _troops._ If we send off the numbers we'd need to overrun Dras-Leona, we'd be practically defenceless.'

'Yes…' Galbatorix sighed and fingered his beard, deep in thought.

No-one spoke for some time. Finally, Tuomas spoke up. 'Sir? I've got a suggestion.'

Galbatorix looked at him expectantly.

'What about the urgals, sir?' said Tuomas.

'What about 'em?' said Tranah.

'Well, why don't we ask some of them to help us?' said Tuomas. 'I mean, the other riders drove them out of their homes and they keep killing them for trying to come back. If we told them they could get revenge, they might help. Yansan said they were obsessed with war.'

'You know,' said Galbatorix, 'You could have a good point there. I haven't really dealt with urgals in the past, but it's certainly true that they've had their share of persecution from the elders. If I offered them the chance for revenge – and perhaps the opportunity to return to their old territories – they could well be interested. The trouble with that idea is that I'd have to go and speak to them myself, and if something happens while I'm away…' he sighed. 'I'm beginning to wonder if capturing Gil'ead was such a good idea in the first place. At least when we spent all our time on the run we didn't have to worry about keeping hold of a stronghold.'

'No need to be despondent, sir,' said Strein. 'Things are going well. We've got Oromis, we've got Gil'ead, and there's a good chance Dras-Leona will be ours soon too. Once we've got Teirm and Vroengard, we'll own every major city in the country except Ilirea. Once that happens, we'll have the numbers to attack Ilirea and hopefully kill the elders there.' She paused. 'My gods… I just realised there's only three of them left now, including Vrael.'

'But that doesn't make them any less dangerous,' said Galbatorix. He sighed. 'We'd better get some rest now… we can talk some more tomorrow.'

No-one argued. They shuffled out, each one too exhausted to say another word. Galbatorix got up, wincing a little at the ache in his limbs, and was heading for the door when Kaelyn caught up with him.

'Yes, Kaelyn? What is it?'

Kaelyn was pale and bloodied, just like her fellows, but she held something out for him to take, saying, 'Here. I looked after it for you, sir.'

Galbatorix took the iron dragon amulet. 'Thanks, Kaelyn. I was trying to remember what I'd done with this.' He put it on. 'Oh, that reminds me… I've got a job for you.'

Kaelyn looked up, a hint of hope showing in her eyes. 'Yes, sir?'

Galbatorix reached into his robe and brought out the red egg. He put it into Kaelyn's hands. 'Here. Look after this. Guard it with your life. Never let it out of your sight. Can I trust you to do that?'

Kaelyn cradled the egg, staring at its ruby-coloured shell with wonder. 'Is this-?'

'Yes. Morzan has another one; tell him I told you to take it off his hands. You'll be our Egg-Guardian from now on. Don't let anyone see them, and don't talk about them. Just keep them safe. We might be able to get them to hatch some day, so they're invaluable to us. I'm sure I can rely on you.'

'You can, sir,' said Kaelyn. 'Where did you get them from, though?'

'The one Morzan has used to belong to the first rider we killed. I found it on her after she was dead, so I took it. The other one belonged to the leader of the wild dragons.'

Kaelyn's eyes widened. 'What?'

'I took it as a hostage,' said Galbatorix. 'I told him it would be destroyed if he or any of his race got in our way. So for the love of gods, don't lose it.'

'I won't,' Kaelyn promised.

'Good. Now, off you go.'

Kaelyn left, cradling the egg. Galbatorix was about to follow her out of the room when he realised there was someone behind him and turned.

It was Morzan, who'd been watching the conversation from a distance. The big rider approached him now, looking slightly furtive.

'Yes, Morzan?'

Morzan glanced at the open door. 'So we got Oromis in the dungeon,' he said.

'That's right. And he's not likely to get out of there, either. As soon as he stops being useful, he's dead.'

Morzan hesitated for a few seconds, and then lowered his voice. 'Well, sir… can I… pay him a visit?'

Galbatorix said nothing for a few moments, before he realised what his friend meant. He reached into his pocket and brought out the key to the cell door. 'Well…'

Morzan was looking almost hungrily at the key. 'C'mon, sir.'

Galbatorix glanced over his shoulder, and then put the key into Morzan's hand. 'All right then. But if you give him any permanent damage, there'll be trouble. I mean that. And if anyone asks, I didn't know anything about it. Understood?'

Morzan's fingers closed around the key. 'Yes, sir.'


	44. Waiting

Chapter Forty-Four

Waiting

The battle at Gil'ead and the capture of Oromis marked the beginning of the end for the Shur'tugal. From thereon in, the Forsworn ceased to be a group of elusive guerrilla fighters, and as ordinary humans rallied to Galbatorix's banner, it signalled the gradual descent of the entire country into civil war – a war that would one day be known as the Fall of the Riders.

After a few hours of sleep, Galbatorix and the Forsworn met once again in the dining hall to take some important decisions.

Galbatorix's eyes were darkened from exhaustion – evidently he had not slept much at all. 'I've been busy,' he announced, stifling a yawn. 'I've s-sent some letters. The urns have gone to Ilirea with a message saying we've captured Teirm and Dras-Leona. And I've sent messages to some urgal chieftains. Found some scholar in the library who translated 'em into their language for me. I've offered the urgals the chance to help us overthrow the elders. In return, they'll be given land and their rights back. I introduced myself as Prince Galbatorix Traeganni of the dark elves… my people and the urgals have been allies in the past – it's even said some dark elves bred with them. Yes, go ahead and pull that face, Morzan. Half-breeds really are quite offensive, no?'

'That's not what I-,'

'I've also written to Roland,' Galbatorix went on, ignoring him. 'I didn't say too much in case the letter was intercepted, but I made it clear that we're all fine and that he should contact us as soon as possible. Also, Durza arrived last night. I went down to meet him and let him know what was going on. I've got him in the dungeons keeping an eye on Oromis right now. Shades make very good sentries, actually. They don't sleep or let their attention wander, and they can sense magic. And they're more or less impossible to fool, too. Not that I think that old pervert would have the imagination.'

'That's good news, sir,' said Tranah. 'But you'd better tell us what happened with the dragons – I'd have asked last night, only I was having trouble seeing straight at the time. How did it go? Did you get this new leader on our side?'

'Unfortunately, no,' said Galbatorix. 'It seems we've already met, and I'm afraid it wasn't under good circumstances.'

'Go on,' said Tranah.

'His name is Kullervo,' said Galbatorix. 'He's Shruikan's brother, and not much bigger than him, so he must be a very good fighter indeed to have beaten Thornessa. And this will surprise you, but he's not actually a wild dragon.'

'You don't mean he's got a rider, do you?' said Strein.

'Well, he did until I killed her,' said Galbatorix.

The others groaned.

'Yes…' said Galbatorix. He sighed. 'Needless to say, he wasn't pleased to see me. In fact, he attacked me as soon as he realised who I was. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. In the end I did the only thing I could really think of. I paralysed him and his mate, and took one of their eggs as a hostage.'

Tranah's mouth fell open. 'You did _what?'_

'I didn't have any choice. I've entrusted the egg to Kaelyn, and we're going to keep hold of it until Kullervo makes his decision. If he offers to ally himself with us, I'll give it back. But if he attacks us… I told him I would destroy the egg.'

Tranah groaned. 'That's not good, sir. That's not good _at all.'_

'He'll rip the world apart to get it back,' said Strein. 'What were you _thinking?_ That won't make him help us, it'll make him our enemy for life.'

'It was cruel, yes, but it's got to work,' Galbatorix insisted. 'He won't want to risk the egg's destruction, and nor will he want to fight his own brother. And I can promise you that he's no friend of the elders; they persecuted both him and his rider, and his sister as well. If the wild dragons do attack us, then you, Kaelyn, will give the egg to me, and I'll hide it. Or if I'm not there, give it to Morzan and let him do it. If that happens, Morzan, be sure to hide it well and don't tell another living soul where it is. Kullervo will have to ask if he wants to know where it is. But if you lose it, then we're dead. In fact, if any of you lose it, I won't hesitate to break your legs for it.'

Tuomas and Gern snickered at that, but the others, looking at Galbatorix, weren't able to catch any trace of humour in his face.

Galbatorix yawned again. 'So, my suggestion for what we should do if we're attacked here in force – that is, if we can't…' he broke off and rubbed his eyes, blinking to try and make them refocus. '…if… if it becomes clear that we can't hold the city, then we'll leave it. We'll take the people with us and march on, say, Teirm or one of the elvish settlements. We'll take it and resettle everyone there, see if we can't hold on for a while. If we have to do that, we'll demolish the castle before we go. Make sure no-one else can use it. If there was just some way of staying in contact over long distances… it's driving me mad. In a manner of speaking.'

'I suggest we attack the elves again,' said Tranah. 'They're the elders' strongest allies, after all. If we can take out Ellesméra, and a few others – Sílthrim, for example, and definitely the larger ones like Nädindel and Kírtan – it'll cripple them. But we'd have to do it in force, and preferably with some troops on the ground as well. We'll have to wait until we know if the urgals are going to help, and until Roland has contacted us. He'll have arrived at Dras-Leona by now, so he shouldn't be too long, unless something goes wrong. Until then, we'll just have to sit tight. Oh, and sir? Does Kullervo know we're at Gil'ead? Sir? Hello? Sir?'

Kaelyn leaned over to look at him. 'He's fallen asleep.'

The next few days passed uneventfully, but very tensely. Galbatorix spent most of his time with Tranah, Strein and Morzan, studying maps and making plans. Durza and the three apprentices took sentry duty – the Shade watched over Oromis, and the three young riders watched from the walls with the dragons, constantly on the alert for any sign of attack. None came, and the city and the broken wall were steadily repaired by teams of workmen, occasionally aided by the Forsworn. At around the time that the work was nearly completed, Tuomas came to Galbatorix with a messenger bird perched on his arm.

'It's from Dras-Leona,' the young rider said, holding out the message to his master.

Galbatorix took the little scroll of paper and unfurled it. He instantly recognised the neat runes inscribed on it. 'This is Vander's handwriting,' he said.

_To my Lord Galbatorix,_

_Dras-Leona has been successfully captured. Suggest you come to us for a full report._

_Vander Zynthad_

It was written in the ancient language. Galbatorix read it several times, and grinned. 'Perfect. C'mon, let's go and tell the others.'

Tranah, Morzan and Strein were highly pleased by the news. 'That's excellent, sir,' said Tranah. 'Are you going to go to them?'

'Yes, immediately,' said Galbatorix. 'Tuomas, you're coming with me. Go up to the dragon roost and get Ithír's saddle on. I'll get some supplies.'

'Yes, sir,' Tuomas said promptly, and hurried off.

'Now, then,' said Galbatorix. 'As soon as I've taken stock of the situation I'll contact Durza and he'll let you know. I'll be back as soon as possible. I'm sure you can hold on here well enough – if you get attacked, don't hesitate to make use of Oromis as a hostage. That ought to make them back off.'

'Right, sir,' said Tranah.

Galbatorix nodded formally and left. He packed a few bags with supplies and went up onto the dragon roost, where Shruikan and Ithír were saddled and ready. They would have to do without their armour – it would weigh them down too much on the journey.

Tuomas helped attach their luggage to the saddles, and he and Galbatorix mounted up.

Galbatorix strapped his legs into place and looked down at Tranah, Morzan and the rest. 'Well, good luck,' he said. 'I'll see you in a few days, most likely.'

'And good luck to you too, sir,' said Tranah. 'Be back quickly.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'May the light of the _tharian lleaud_ protect you.' He took hold of Shruikan, and the black dragon took off with an easy flick of his wings, flying up and over Gil'ead and away Southwards.

Morzan lay back on the bed in his new quarters and stared at the ceiling, trying to think. Zar'roc lay beside him, its hilt glinting in the torchlight. The silver grip had darkened with the grime and sweat that had built up over the last few years, but the blade remained as bright and sharp as it had been on the day he had received it. Earlier that day Tranah had idly suggested that he have it cleaned, but he'd refused.

'Who cares if it's dirty? It still works. Same as me.'

'Yes,' Tranah had said. 'But it'll _look_ nicer.'

'So what?' he'd replied. 'Looks ain't everything, y'know. I ain't no elvish ponce obsessed with shiny stuff.'

That had made Tranah laugh at him, and that had made him irritable.

Morzan hated to be laughed at, but it seemed that people had been doing it to him all his life. The other children he'd grown up with had made him the butt of all their jokes, and even his own parents and siblings had made fun of him from time to time. Donkey. That had been his nickname. Morzan the Donkey, son of Murtagh the bricklayer.

'You'll never be a rider,' a neighbour had told him once. 'But you could pull your father's brick-cart someday. The donkey'd be out of a job.'

That had stung Morzan far more deeply than he had ever admitted to himself. In the end it had been one of the things that had driven him to go to the rider's trials, and he knew that no matter what happened he would never regret it. It had been the thing that had led him to meet Idün, and from the moment the red dragon bonded herself to him he knew he would never be alone again. She was one of the very few people in the world who could laugh at him without hurting him. Brom had been another of them.

Even now, Morzan could not quite believe what Brom had done. The other rider had been like a younger brother to him. During the long years of their training, Brom, together with Idün, had been what kept Morzan's spirits up. And in spite of the fact that Brom had betrayed him, Morzan missed his good cheer and his wit. He remembered how they had snuck out of their cells at night to go drinking in the city, casting sly glances at each other the next day when they had to go to their lessons hung over. It was so hard to connect that Brom – the laughing, happy Brom who had been his friend – with the one who had glared at him from Tranah and Roland's grasp while Galbatorix lay dying, and told him he was a fool and a traitor.

That version of Brom was the version Morzan hated, and as he stared blankly upwards and remembered that night he felt his heart harden. He knew who it was that had taken his old friend away from him. Who it was who had filled Brom's mind with lies and turned him against his friends. He, Morzan, had fought back against the forces that tried to turn him into an elf, but Brom had surrendered, and from that day forth he had ceased to be Morzan's friend and become a tool of the elders. Like so many others.

Morzan's thick fingers curled around the key in his hand, and he sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He put Zar'roc back into its sheath on his back, and strode out of the room.

He passed through the castle and down the stairs to the dungeons, which were virtually deserted. Durza, sitting on a stool outside the door of Oromis' cell, turned sharply to look at Morzan when he entered, his eyes gleaming red in the torchlight. The Shade relaxed slightly when he saw who it was, but did not look away.

Morzan pointed awkwardly at him. 'You… you go watch the end of the corridor, all right? I got business here.'

Durza stood up in one fluid movement. 'As you wish, my Lord,' he said, bowing his head slightly. He loped away without another word, and stationed himself at the base of the stairs leading back up into the castle.

Morzan kicked the stool aside and stared into the cell at his former master. Oromis was dozing, huddled in the corner of his prison. His pale yellow robe was stained, and he'd wrapped his arms around his knees and had his shoulders hunched protectively.

Just for a moment, as he watched the old elf's fitful sleep, Morzan felt sorry for him. But when he thought of Brom, and of the victims they had both seen being led innocently to their fate, all his sympathy fled. He thrust the key into the lock and turned it, and the door swung open.

Oromis woke up at the sound of the door closing, and lifted his head. When he saw his former apprentice he started very slightly and moved fractionally away from him.

Morzan stood over him. 'Get up,' he commanded.

Oromis stood. 'Morzan,' he said. 'I am imploring you-,'

'Shut up,' said Morzan.

'But Morzan, please-,'

Morzan hit him in the face, hard. Oromis fell silent, staring at him with an expression almost of shock.

Morzan cracked his knuckles. 'How's the new quarters?' he asked sneeringly. 'Not so comfy, huh? Bet you'd like it better if you had some company, wouldn't you?'

'I am comfortable enough,' Oromis said coldly. 'And you, Morzan, have condemned yourself to die the traitor's death.'

Morzan laughed. 'You're pathetic, elf,' he said. 'Pathetic. You reckon you can scare me? You're gonna die. You know that? An' guess what? You deserve it. I'm bettin' once you've stopped being useful you'll be killed nice 'an quick. Galbatorix, he's like that. Doesn't believe in things like the traitor's death. He'd take yer head off, quick as lightning. Now me, if it was me, I'd make it something slower. Something that gave you time to think about what you'd done, but I don't reckon I'll be allowed. But I _do_ get one bit o' fun – when you die, I'm the one who's gonna be holdin' the axe. Galbatorix promised me.'

Oromis went cold. 'You have no right, traitor,' he said softly. 'If you kill me, it'll be murder.'

Morzan drew Zar'roc, pointing it at the old elf's neck and forcing him to lift his head to avoid being cut. 'You know what I've learned?' he said. 'Know what I found out? Justice is what happens when someone with a sword kills someone without a sword. An' guess who's got the sword, pervert? It ain't you.'

Oromis closed his eyes. 'Oh gods…'

Morzan jabbed him with the sword, hard enough to draw blood. 'What gods, elf? I thought you said they din't exist. Guess it's true – everyone really does start believing in 'em when they're about to die.' He held Zar'roc's point against the elf's neck a few seconds longer, and then abruptly withdrew it and put it back into its sheath. Oromis sagged, rubbing the cut on his throat.

'Now,' said Morzan. 'If I had my way I'd kill yer right here and now, or at least cut off them hairless balls of yours, but Galbatorix told me I'm not to do yeh any lasting damage so I'm gonna have to settle for second best.' He balanced himself, and kicked Oromis square in the groin.

Oromis screamed and doubled up, and Morzan kicked him again, this time in the stomach. The old elf fell onto his side, moaning, and Morzan kicked him, again and again, aiming for his gut, where it would hurt the most. Oromis made a feeble attempt to fend him off, but without his magic he was the weaker of the two, and in the end he curled up, covering his head, screaming and yelling. Morzan reached down and took hold of his collar, hauling him to his feet. Holding him still with one hand, he punched him in the chest and stomach and then in the throat. As the blows rained down, the big rider started to shout. 'How's that feel, you sonofabitch, how's that feel? Well? How d'yer like a taste of yer own medicine, elf? How d'yer like that?' He let go of him and kicked him hard in the kneecap, and Oromis fell against the wall and slid down it, holding his hands out in a vain attempt to shield himself. 'Please!' the old elf moaned. 'Please, s-stop! Stop it! I can't-,'

Morzan smacked him in the back of the neck. 'You evil piece of shit!' he snarled. 'You foul pervert, you reckon you can get out of this, you reckon you can make me stop after what you did? You think that, do yeh? Think it's all right to do what you did to them kids, but it's not all right for me to do _this?_' he stamped on Oromis' hand, breaking his fingers with a horrible crunching sound. 'Or _this?'_ he smashed his fist into the elf's face, cracking his cheekbone.

Oromis started to howl and gibber, in too much pain to speak coherently. He tried desperately to drag himself away, but Morzan grabbed him by the leg and hauled him back. He kicked him onto his back and pinned him down with a boot on his chest. 'Screw what Galbatorix said,' he rasped, and drew his dagger. 'I'm gonna cut it off an' make you eat it.'

'Please!' Oromis moaned, reaching up toward him. 'No, gods, no!'

Morzan hit him in the face again. 'Shut the hell up!'

Oromis lay back, his nose oozing blood. He started to cry. 'I couldn't help it,' he said, sobbing, his broken fingers twisting horribly. 'I couldn't help it, please, I couldn't help it, I couldn't-,'

Morzan hit him in the chin, and the old elf went limp, his eyes flicking shut. He'd been knocked unconscious.

For a moment Morzan stood there, looking down at his old master, and then he put his dagger back into its sheath and removed his boot from Oromis' chest. He spread a hand over him. 'Waíse heill.'

He used the healing spell several times, and when he had healed the more visible and serious injuries he kicked Oromis onto his side and left the cell, locking the door behind him.

Morzan paused in the corridor outside, leaning against the cell door, and realised he was trembling. He breathed in deeply and wiped the sweat off his forehead. A glance along the corridor showed him Durza, still standing calmly in the same spot as before and watching the stairs. Morzan found the stool lying on its side, and set it upright again. 'You can come back,' he said thickly.

Durza looked around and came to him, and resumed his seat without comment. Morzan paused for a moment, looking at him, and then left without a word.

He walked off up the steps, feeling strangely clumsy, as if his body didn't belong to him any more. Without really thinking about where he was going, he wandered on up to the battlements and emerged into the fresh air with an odd feeling of relief. It was early afternoon, and the sky was clear and bright. He could see the dragons perched on the walls with the ordinary human sentries, scanning the landscape. Idün was on the dragon-roost, drowsing in the warm sunlight, while Aedua and Talziri circled overhead like a pair of eagles. A peaceful scene.

Morzan wandered along the wall, not thinking of anything much. Somewhere in the back of his head he could hear the crunch of Oromis' fingers breaking, replaying itself over and over again. He sighed and forced himself to relive what he had done in his mind, and as the shock of it slowly drained away a sudden, dark thrill moved through him, powerful and exhilarating. He shivered slightly, and then grinned. 'Old bastard,' he muttered. 'It served him right. Yeah…'

For some reason it made him feel sociable, and he walked on toward the spot where Tranah was standing. She saw him coming and moved aside to let him join her.

'Hello. Where have you been?'

Morzan shrugged. 'Just resting. How's it going up here?'

'Not too badly,' said Tranah. 'Just had a bite to eat. No sign of anything suspicious.'

Morzan glanced around. 'Where's the kids? Gern and Kaelyn.'

'They've gone into the city to visit their parents,' said Tranah. 'They asked me first. I thought they deserved a break.'

Morzan grasped the rough stone parapet and leaned forward to look down at the city. 'Good,' he said. 'At last we've got that blasted girl out of our hair.'

'There's no need to be so hard on her,' Tranah said mildly. 'She's had a hard time.'

'Big deal,' said Morzan. 'We've all had a hard time. _I've_ had a hard time, but d'you hear me going on about it? I'm glad Galbatorix didn't take her with him; she'd have made more trouble for him, you mark my words.'

'They were a little too close, I agree,' said Tranah. 'I mean, not that it's wrong for them to be friends or anything, but he was giving her too much attention.'

'Had a bit of a crush on her, I reckon,' said Morzan. 'I know _she_ was wanting a bit of action. Saw her making eyes at him every time I turned around. Idiot girl doesn't know he'd never break his word.'

Tranah blinked. 'Word? What word?'

'That woman he talked about,' said Morzan. 'The one he wouldn't name. He took an oath never to go with anyone else. She had to be pretty good in the sack for him to go and do that. Man's a romantic, honestly.'

Tranah smiled. 'I hope for his sake she comes back.'

'Not if she's gone over the sea she won't,' said Morzan. 'Won't stop him waiting the rest of his damn fool life for her, though. No-one's gonna get in the way of that, an' definitely not that jumped-up apprentice of his.'

'She's just a girl,' said Tranah. 'You know what it's like when you're that age, surely.'

'Maybe, but I never went and tried to get someone killed because I couldn't get 'em into bed with me,' said Morzan, unmoved.

'Morzan, you know perfectly well she didn't plan that. Anyway, I'm fairly sure we can count on her to act a little more responsibly in future.'

'I'll believe that when I see it,' said Morzan.

'I've already seen it,' said Tranah. 'Remember how Galbatorix told her to stay back that first day when we got here? He told her off. No question of that. She spent the rest of the day sulking and now she keeps away from him.'

Morzan chuckled. 'Good. Best thing for both of 'em. Dunno why he put up with her for so long, honestly.'

'Well, he's a lonely man,' said Tranah. 'No-one's perfect. And now maybe Gern will finally pull himself together.'

'Huh?' said Morzan. 'Gern? What about him?'

'He likes her,' said Tranah. 'I noticed it months ago.'

Morzan groaned. 'Y'know, I really can't think of anything I care less about. Have you made a plan for if we get attacked again?'

'I've got some people building siege weapons,' said Tranah. 'They shouldn't take too long to put together. We'll put them on the outer walls and add some more up here at the castle. The first dragon that comes at us that isn't carrying a white banner gets its wings shredded. Even ordinary humans can be dangerous to a rider, with the right weapons.'

'Good plan,' said Morzan. 'An' we can bring Oromis up here an' tell 'em we'll cut his damned head off if they don't surrender.'

Tranah nodded. 'I doubt we'll be attacked in the next couple of days. Since none of the riders escaped, it'll be a while before the news gets to Ilirea. If I remember correctly, it takes about two weeks to get there on foot. Hopefully by the time they _do_ find out, we'll have had some word back from the urgal chieftains, and from Roland. After that we can decide what to do.'

'Yeh,' said Morzan. 'D'you reckon Galbatorix has gotten to Dras-Leona yet?'

'Most likely,' said Tranah. 'He'll contact us either tomorrow or the day after, by my guess.'

'Let's hope he'll have good news when he does,' said Morzan.


	45. A Broken Pact

Chapter Forty-Five

A Broken Pact

Vander was waiting on the dragon roost when Galbatorix and Tuomas arrived at Dras-Leona. Shruikan landed, and Galbatorix jumped down and hurried to meet his friend. 'I came here as quick as I could. Damn good to see you, Vander.'

Vander bowed. 'I'm glad you came. How is it in Gil'ead?'

'Good,' said Galbatorix. 'Although I'm afraid the elders know we have it now. We were attacked by four riders a day or so before I left to come here. They'd brought about two hundred and fifty ground troops with them – elves, dwarves and humans – and Oromis himself was leading them.'

Vander cringed. 'What happened?'

'Luckily Morzan and I got back from our visit to the Spine in time. We managed to kill most of the other riders, and Oromis… we crippled Glaedr and captured the pair of them. Oromis is in a cell right now, and we've got Glaedr outside the walls with a paralysis spell on him. The city took a fair bit of damage, but it's fixeable. Plenty of casualties, but not too many, thank gods. The others are secure there now.'

'That's good news,' said Vander. 'Especially about Oromis. Capturing him could well win us the war.'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'It could. At the very least, that's one less elder to worry about. I've got Durza watching over him. So, how are things here? Where's Roland?'

Ithír had landed while they were speaking, and now Tuomas came to join them. 'Where's Roland?' he said immediately.

Vander looked grim. 'I'm afraid he couldn't come up here to meet you. He was wounded during the fight to capture the city. Orwyne's with him.'

Galbatorix swore. 'How badly is he hurt?'

'Not so badly that he'll die,' said Vander. 'But too badly for Orwyne and I working together to heal him. Come inside, sir, and I'll take you to him. I'll have some servants bring your bags.'

Galbatorix followed the skinny man into the castle, feeling upleasantly apprehensive. It was peaceful and well-ordered inside; the servants and guards they passed bowed respectfully to them, murmuring, 'My Lords,' or 'Argetlam', and everything looked organised. The battlements above had showed some signs of having been recently repaired in several places, which was the only sign of the battle that had taken place he'd seen so far. He followed Vander, ignoring his tiredness, and Tuomas trailed behind his master, keeping his hand close to his sword-hilt.

Vander opened the door to the infirmary, and when Galbatorix entered the first thing he saw was Roland, lying on his back on a stone slab. There was a blanket over him, and he appeared to be asleep, his freckled face pale. Orwyne rose from her seat beside him and came to meet them, smiling in relief. 'Sir! Oh, thank gods. I was beginning to be afraid you hadn't got our message.'

'Hello, Orwyne,' Galbatorix said briefly, going straight to Roland's side. He touched the old rider's shoulder. 'Roland? Can you hear me?'

Roland's eyes opened slowly, and he peered up at Galbatorix. 'Good heavens,' he murmured. 'Is that you, sir?'

'Yes, Roland. I came as fast as I could. Tuomas is here too. How are you?'

'Not – too shabby, sir,' Roland gasped. 'I'd – get up, only I find myself indisposed at the moment.'

'It's all right, I understand. What's the trouble, Roland?'

'It's his legs,' Orwyne said in a low voice, touching Roland's forehead to soothe him. 'I did what I could, and so did Vander, but we just didn't have the energy to heal it.'

'What happened?' said Tuomas.

'It was my fault,' said Orwyne. 'I'd dismounted and was fighting one of the other riders on the wall. He got me down and was going to finish me off, but Roland came to help me. He knocked the bastard out, but then his dragon came to help him. His talons ripped right through Roland's legs – nearly took the left one right off. Ymazu and Calanon got him down in the end – we've got him chained up in a courtyard. That was five days ago. We nearly had to cut Roland's leg off, but we managed to save it. Now you're here, we can heal it properly.'

Roland had listened to all this with a slightly resigned expression. 'I really am truly sorry, sir,' he said. 'I'm afraid I'm not quite as fast as I used to be.'

'Stop being silly, Roland,' Orwyne said. 'Just you lie still and we'll fix you up. Well, sir…' she looked up at Galbatorix. 'I suppose you should see for yourself.' She took hold of the blanket, and carefully lifted it aside. Roland let out a small gasp of pain as the wound was exposed, and Galbatorix cringed.

Both of Roland's legs had been torn open. The right one had been laid open from thigh to shin by a massive talon, and the other, the worse one, had bone actually exposed just below the knee. The edges of the wounds were no longer raw or bleeding – they had formed into scar tissue, and part of the less severe wound had closed over, but it was plain that if it was not healed soon then Roland would never walk again, and could well die.

The blood drained out of Tuomas' face. 'Oh gods…'

Roland made an attempt to lift his head, but, lacking the strength, he sighed and let his head drop. 'Not… quite the return home I had envisaged, unfortunately.'

Galbatorix looked at Vander. 'You're better at this sort of thing than I am; what d'you suggest?'

'A simple healing spell should do it,' said Vander. 'But only if we all work together. Orwyne and I couldn't risk the full spell on our own; if we'd run out of energy partway through, we would have crippled or killed him. But with four of us, it should be straightforward enough. We just have to keep our concentration.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Understood. Tuomas, do you think you can help us?'

Tuomas blanced. 'I'm really not-,'

Roland fumbled for the young rider's hand, and managed to grasp it. 'It's all right, lad,' he said hoarsely. 'Be calm. Look inside yourself and you'll find it. The Three… the Three Peaks are out there. Just outside. They're watching over us. See them?' He let go of Tuomas' hand and pointed at the window that overlooked his bed. When Tuomas looked through it, he could see the city outside, and the wall, and beyond that the looming presence of the three peaks; craggy and imposing, like three massive sentinals.

'All right,' he said softly. 'I can do it, sir.'

Roland let his hand drop. 'That's the way, lad,' he said, his eyes closing. 'That's the way.'

Vander spread his hand over the terrible wound in Roland's left leg. 'We'll do this one first,' he said. 'All of you – open your minds to mine. Do it gently. Breathe deeply and stay calm – if you panic, everyone will feel it. When I cast the spell, channel your energy into me. Not too fast. Just a little at a time.'

The others glanced at each other, and then nodded to signal that they were ready. Vander closed his dark eyes and braced himself, and Orwyne, Galbatorix and Tuomas reached out to his mind with their own. He let them in, and when they had all relaxed he breathed in deeply and spoke the spell. 'Waíse heill!'

Rich brown light haloed Vander's hand, matching his skin almost perfectly, and poured silently out of him and into the wound, making it glow. A moment later, the other three riders began to supplement the skinny rider's magic with their own.

Tuomas risked opening his eyes, and saw the beam of combined energy moving over Roland's leg, slowly knitting the muscle and skin back together. Brown, pale green, yellow and pitch black. The very essence of the four riders, working as one. And little by little, the wound healed. Veins and muscles grew over the exposed bone, and blood began to pump through it, gradually bringing colour back into the surrounding skin, and layer after layer of flesh formed over the top of that. Roland grimaced at the pain, but made no sound, and when at last a covering of thick, knotted scar tissue had grown over the spot where the wound had been, Vander closed his hand and gently withdrew.

The other three riders shivered slightly as they pulled out of his mind and back into their own, and each one performed a little instinctive gesture afterwards, as if to remind themselves of who they were – Galbatorix tucked his hair back behind his ears and Orwyne straightened her tunic. Tuomas rubbed his eyes and looked at Roland's leg. The wound had gone, leaving only the scar behind.

Some of the colour had returned to Roland's face. He flexed the leg experimentally, wincing when his knee moved.

'How does that feel?' Vander enquired.

'Much better, thankyou, young man,' said Roland.

Vander carefully felt the scar, his fingers moving over it with the ease of long experience. 'It seems to have healed cleanly,' he said. 'But you'll probably have a limp.'

Roland chuckled. 'Dear me, I'm not going to die but I'll have a limp. I shall have to complain to the gods for their intolerable cruelty.'

Vander smiled slightly. 'I think the gods have a lot to answer for. Now, hold still – we need to heal the other one. It should be easier.'

It was. This time, knowing the worst was over, Tuomas could relax more easily and let his magic flow more smoothly. Toward the end he felt himself weakening unpleasantly, but he forced himself to keep going until the wound had become a scar and he could close his mind again and subside into a chair. After that Roland slept, and they could all see the colour coming back into his face.

Vander put the blanket back in place. 'He should be fine now. But it was a near thing.'

The door opened at this point, and a man came in, carrying a tray. 'Hello, Mother, just brought some – dear gods!' he saw Galbatorix, did a spectacular double-take and dropped the bowl of soup he'd been carrying onto the floor.

Orwyne stood up. 'Oh dear. Calm down, it's all right.'

The man bent to pick up the fallen tray. 'I'm very sorry, got a nasty shock – but next time you have the Great Betrayer in here with you, could you warn me? This _is_ him, isn't it?'

'It is, yes,' said Orwyne.

The man looked Galbatorix up and down, with a slightly bemused expression. 'But he's just a _boy.'_

For some reason that annoyed Galbatorix. He looked back coldly. 'Orwyne, who is this?'

Orwyne frowned. 'My son, Roderick Rolandson. Who's just earned himself a thump in the lughole. Roderick, for the love of gods, show some respect.'

The man looked about thirty. He was short and stocky, with a freckled face and thick red hair, and he bowed politely. 'Sorry, sorry. It's an honour to meet you, my Lord. How's Father? Any better?'

'He'll be fine,' said Vander. 'Since Lord Galbatorix and Tuomas here arrived a few minutes ago, we were able to work the healing spell. He'll make a full recovery, though he might have a limp.'

Galbatorix blinked. He looked at Roland, then at Roderick, and then at Orwyne. 'Your son? And his father…?'

Orwyne nodded, a little shyly.

'The resemblance is rather obvious, isn't it?' said Roderick. He sighed and tried to clean up the mess on the floor. 'I'll just be a few moments – just let me go and get a bucket of water. Would you like me to go and tell the kitchen you're here, sir?'

'Yes, thankyou,' said Galbatorix. 'Tuomas and I came here in a hurry. And have someone get a bedchamber ready. Ask them to put a hammock in there if that's possible.'

Roderick raised an eyebrow, but said; 'Certainly, sir,' and hurried out.

Orwyne leant over and gently touched Roland's forehead. He stirred and mumbled something, and the red-haired woman smiled. 'He'll be fine now. Let's leave him to rest.'

'We should leave a guard on the door, though,' said Galbatorix. 'Just in case.'

Orwyne nodded, and they left the room as quietly as they could. Tuomas went to fetch a guard, and once he had been stationed by the door and made to swear an oath that he would not enter or let anyone in except Roderick, they could leave for the dining hall.

There they settled down together and enjoyed some spiced wine, and Vander and Orwyne gave their report.

'Apart from what happened to Roland, the attack went well,' said Vander. 'There were three other riders here, as we'd expected. One of their dragons was circling overhead and saw us coming, so Orwyne attacked her immediately, before she could give the alarm. Roland and I dropped our firebombs close to the dragon-roost – that scared both of the other two into the air, before their riders could get to them. The one Orwyne attacked died; Keth knocked another one unconscious, and the third one was wounded but escaped. There were a couple of trebuchets on the outer wall – Ymazu and I destroyed them and went after the guards, and Roland and Orwyne went down onto the walls to fight with the two riders who'd survived. The third one we found in the castle later on; he'd died when his dragon did. As for the other two; I overpowered one of them – she was having trouble because she could feel her dragon's pain. The other one managed to get to his dragon – he was the one who wounded Roland. We have both of them in the dungeon now. One of their dragons escaped, but we caught her when she came back for her rider. Both of them are in one of the courtyards. We had to paralyse them. As for the riders, we've kept them comfortably enough. I spoke to them and promised they wouldn't be hurt if they were prepared to be reasonable. I didn't try and win them onto our side, though; I thought I should probably leave that to you, sir.'

Galbatorix listened closely. 'That's excellent, Vander. Once again I'm reminded of why I'm so lucky to have friends like you.'

Vander ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. 'It's always an honour, sir. But tell me, how did you do?'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Not so well, I'm afraid. But quite well. In a way.'

Saraswati and Vandana sat side-by-side on a high ledge on the tower that belonged to them, and watched the stars begin to come out. A cold breeze ruffled Saraswati's blonde hair, and she sighed miserably.

Ever since Galbatorix's return, ever since the day when he had suddenly reappeared following his long absence and supposed death, the atmosphere in Ilirea had become steadily worse and worse. At first, when Galbatorix had somehow escaped from his cell, the elders hadn't been overly worried. Although the method of his escape had bewildered everyone, no-one had considered him much of a threat. He had no dragon, he was clearly insane and he was already half-dead. Even if he had managed to evade justice, he would almost certainly die somewhere out there, most likely from starvation or suicide. Only Vrael, perhaps feeling some subconscious guilt, had remained worried.

But when an extensive search had failed to turn up any conclusive proof of what had happened to him, and when all the guards and riders who had been present on the night of the escape had been interrogated but all failed to implicate themselves or anyone else, and then when the mysterious visitor had left his threats burned into the walls of the white city, the elders had begun to be afraid.

After that, it seemed that nothing but bad news ever came to Ilirea. First there had been the rumours from Teirm, and then the return of Carina, wounded and bearing a terrible story of the crazed marauder who had inflicted it on her. Hope had returned with the letter from Morzan which reported Galbatorix's capture, but after that had come the greatest disaster of all – something so terrible and so utterly unexpected that for a long time Vrael had flatly refused to believe it. But in the end Morzan's betrayal had to be accepted as solid fact, along with the news that the Great Betrayer had somehow obtained a new dragon – this one as black as night, but obviously forced or duped into serving his rider, just like Morzan.

From then on, the reports flowed in. An attack at Teirm, another at Dras-Leona. Everywhere in the country, riders were being killed. And no-one could catch the killers or stop the Great Betrayer's rampage. As more and more riders vanished – some having been killed and others having defected to the Betrayer's cause through who knew what insanity, the elders had steadily become desperate. The fact was that after a thousand years of absolute domination, during which not one serious threat to their power had ever emerged, they had become arrogant and blind to any possibility of real danger to them. They had never before been called upon to fight other riders, and now that they were being forced to do so, they were beginning to realise that they did not know how to do it. Not even the armies of Queen Islanzadí were strong enough to face the Forsworn. After the massacre of their army at Gil'ead, the dwarves had retreated into their caves and severed all ties with the rider elders, claiming that, since they had never had the opportunity to become riders, nor ever really benefitted from their reign, they had no cause or interest in fighting for them. And now Thornessa, leader of the wild dragons, had ceased to communicate with them, and word had it that she had been deposed which, if it were true, meant that the wild dragons were not necessarily on Vrael's side any more.

And now, when the elders had barely begun to fully comprehend the situation at hand, they had begun to see a very real possibility that they would lose the war. There were now only a very few loyal riders left; some had actually deserted the country altogether and fled over the sea to escape Galbatorix's rage, others refused to fight the Forsworn, and others, including Oromis, had vanished – either dead or taken captive.

During that time, Vrael had become increasingly paranoid and angry. He now refused to speak to his former lover at all, and no longer trusted either her or Yansan, as if he somehow blamed the two humans for the loss of both Menulis and Oromis – who were, after all, the only elves on the elder council apart from himself.

And Saraswati was miserable. _'He's going to run away,'_ she said now, to Vandana. _'I can tell.'_

The yellow dragon refolded her wings. _'He won't,'_ she said. _'Where would he go? Besides, this is his home. He's too proud to give it up just like that.'_

'_He should have gone out to fight the Betrayer himself,'_ said Saraswati. _'I _told_ him so. I'd go myself if he'd let me.'_

Both herself and Yansan had tried to persuade their master to this effect, but Vrael had refused. 'We must stay here,' he had said. 'If we went out there, into danger, it would be irresponsible. We must keep ourselves safe. For the good of the country.'

Which was, in a way, true, but Saraswati had not been happy to hear it. 'We must fight, Vrael,' she had said. 'For the peoples' sake. If we stay here, people will say we're hiding, that we're cowards, or that we don't care. They're already saying it. Why do you think Gil'ead defected? They think we've deserted them.'

That had sent Vrael into a rage, which happened depressingly often these days. 'I – don't – care – _what_ those idiots say!' the old elf had roared. 'If they cannot stay loyal, then they will suffer the consequences! And if they want to see us fight, then they will.'

That was when he had ordered Oromis to attack Gil'ead, and his fellow elf had gone willingly enough, taking with him all the troops that could be summoned at short notice.

But the attack had been a disaster, and a catastrophic one. Only that morning the ashes of Oromis' comrades had arrived back at Ilirea, along with a terse but mocking note from the Great Betrayer's own hands. Once Vrael had read it, he had walked away without a word and locked himself into his chambers, where he had stayed for the rest of the day.

'_If he doesn't run, then he should,'_ said Vandana. _'The Great Betrayer will attack here eventually. It's inevitable. And when that happens…'_

Saraswati's stomach churned. _'How could this have happened?'_ she said. _'How?'_

'_It's Vrael's fault,'_ said Vandana. _'The man is arrogant. I always said he was. He finally went too far.'_

'_We all did,'_ said Saraswati. _'If only we'd… we should have _done_ something, Vandana. Do you remember his face? How he looked when they brought him back here? Because I do. I see it in my head, all the time. I didn't see a monster. I saw a man in agony who was pleading for help. A man who had lost everything. He needed to be looked after. But we didn't. We didn't help him. We'd already taken away his dragon, and his child, and then we tried to take away his life too. What's happening now… it's punishment. We brought it on ourselves.'_

'_The man is mad,'_ said Vandana. _'Madmen don't understand things like that. He's doing this because he believes that murder can give him back what he lost.'_

'_No he's not,'_ said Saraswati. _'Use your head, Vandana. A lunatic couldn't do the things he's done. He's been fighting a war with us for over a year now, and he hasn't lost a single one of his followers, but we've been decimated. He's a better leader than Vrael, or any of us. And unless he's killed, he'll win this war. Even without him, his followers could probably win on their own. Don't forget that Tranah is one of them.'_

Vandana nodded. She and Saraswati had trained Tranah, years ago, when she was barely more than a teenager. They both remembered what a talented warrior and stategist she was. And now she had gone over to the Great Betrayer, along with so many other powerful riders.

Vandana blew a little puff of yellow fire into the night sky. _'Yes… don't hate me for saying this, but… perhaps we should consider defecting ourselves.'_

'_Never!'_ Saraswati snapped. _'Betray the others? Betray everything the riders stand for? No. Not even if the alternative is death.'_

'_All right. Calm down. It was just a thought. But if we don't join him, what else can we do? Perhaps we should flee instead.'_

'_No,' _said Saraswati. _'We'll stand and fight. When he attacks Ilirea, we'll be here to defend it.'_

'_But if we lose, we'll die,'_ said Vandana. _'He won't spare us. You know he won't.'_

'_Calm down,'_ said Saraswati. _'It may not come to that. If Vrael can persuade the Queen to send more elves here, and if the wild dragons come to help us soon…'_

'_Yes…'_ Vandana sighed. _'But you're right. We shouldn't give in. If the Betrayer comes here, I will fight him until I die. Not for this city, or for that fool Vrael, but for you.'_

Saraswati touched the hilt of her sword. _'And I'll do the same.'_

They sat in silence for a while, and watched the rising half-moon. Vandana, looking out over the landscape, saw its light glint off something flying toward the city. As she watched, she could see its shape silhouetted against the stars and realised it was a dragon. Her heart lurched. _'Saraswati! Someone is coming – see, there!'_

Saraswati leapt to her feet, simultaneously drawing her sword. _'Where? Show me.'_

Vandana shared a mental image with her. _'I can only see one. You must alert the others – quickly!'_

Saraswati dashed off into the tower. Left behind, Vandana kept her yellow eyes on the sky, searching urgently for any sign of other dragons. But she could only see the one. Not very large, only a few years old by her estimate, heading steadily toward the city. The yellow dragon roared a challenge. A few seconds later, the response echoed back. Deep and strong; belonging to a strong male, she judged. She roared again, and the two dragons exchanged a series of calls. It was a primitive form of communication, but they were able to make themselves understood. _My territory,_ Vandana had said.

_I come,_ the intruder replied.

_Challenge me, and die,_ Vandana warned.

_I come not to fight, _came the answer.

Vandana waited, her wings half-spread in readiness to fly at him if he showed any sign of aggression. The other dragon passed over Ilirea's walls, raising shouts of fear from the guards stationed there, and flew toward the tower where she perched. Vandana stood aside to give him room, and he alighted in front of her, hastily bowing his head in submission as he folded his wings.

Close to, Vandana could see he was wild. His scales were flame-orange and his eyes gold, and though he was much smaller than her he was muscular and battle-scarred, his head crowned by six long horns.

'_I come to Ilirea in peace,' _he said immediately.

Vandana lowered her head to scent him. _'What is your name, wild dragon, and why have you come?'_

'_I am Kullervo,'_ said the orange dragon. _'I have come to speak with Lord Vrael.'_

'_There is no-one else with you?'_ said Vandana.

'_No.'_

On his own he was no threat. Satisfied, Vandana opened her wings. _'Come with me.'_

Kullervo followed the yellow dragon to the elders' tower and into the council chamber. It was deserted, but brightly lit by the magical torches on the walls. Vandana landed in the middle of the floor. _'We wait here,' _she told Kullervo. _'The elders will soon join us.'_

She had already alerted Saraswati, and the two dragons waited patiently in the chamber until they were joined by Nöst and Raluvimbha. Raluvimbah had brought her rider with her, but Nöst was alone. The two dragons inspected Kullervo very suspiciously, but he submitted almost timidly and they quickly relaxed.

A few minutes later Saraswati arrived, followed by a very anxious-looking Vrael. The remaining three elders almost automatically formed into their customary semicircle, with Kullervo at the centre. The orange dragon kept rustling his wings, but he stared back at them boldly enough.

'State your name,' Vrael commanded.

Kullervo stilled, sitting tall with his head and shoulders raised proudly and his tail wrapped around his claws. _'I am Kullervo, son of Ravana and Silarae,'_ he said, projecting his thoughts to all the elders. _'I am the leader of the wild dragons.'_

Vrael glanced at the others. 'I know that name,' he said. 'I know all those names. You are the son of the Night Dragon. You were bonded to the traitor Einás of Ellesméra.'

Kullervo paused. _'Yes. I am that dragon.'_

'Then where is your rider?' said Yansan.

'_Einás is dead,'_ said Kullervo. _'I am a wild dragon now. I defeated Thornessa and took her place.'_

'How did your rider die?' said Saraswati.

'_She was murdered by the one you call the Great Betrayer,'_ said Kullervo. _'I have come to ask for your help.'_

'The Great Betrayer is our enemy as well as yours,' said Vrael. 'Help us. In the name of the great alliance between elf and dragon, join with us to destroy him.'

'_I cannot,'_ said Kullervo. _'The Great Betrayer… he came to me in my territory. He tried to win me to his side. When I refused, he stole my son from me. He promised that he would not harm him, but that if I or any of my people fought against him then my son would die.'_

The three elders winced.

'Further evidence of his evil,' Vrael snarled. 'Kullervo, you have my sympathy both for the murder of your rider and the loss of your son. I beg of you, help us fight the traitors and your son will be returned.'

Kullervo hesitated. _'No,'_ he said at last. _'I will not. I cannot. The human does not lie. If I fight, my son's life with be forfeit. You must get him back for me. If you return him to me, unharmed, then I and my kind will come to your side at once.'_

Vrael was silent for a long time, evidently deep in thought. 'I would be willing to do that for you, my Lord Kullervo,' he said at length, in a measured voice. 'But without your help, we cannot fight the Betrayer to win. The dwarves have deserted us. The humans are rebelling. The Queen is the only ally we have left, and unless we have dragons helping us, any assault on the Betrayer's forces would fail. He has already killed most of the riders who worked for us, including Elder Menulis. Elder Oromis is missing, either dead or being held captive. If he has Oromis, then that means he has a hostage to use against both of us. Help us, Kullervo. For the sake of both our races.'

Kullervo snorted. _'You cannot command me, elf,'_ he said. _'I have no reason to trust you. It was you who imprisoned my rider and cursed my sister. If the Betrayer was beyond your control, then what he did is your fault. I am not here to offer my help, but to make a deal. If you save my son from him, you will have earned my loyalty. Until then, the wild dragons will take no part in your war.'_

Every one of the elders reacted with anger to this. Nöst's reaction was the most extreme. The white dragon let out a deafening roar and half-charged at Kullervo, head low and mouth wide open. Kullervo shied away from him, snarling in response, and dared to snap at Nöst's foreleg, tearing several scales loose. Nöst made several lunges toward his neck and spine, but stopped short of actually striking him. But this display of power failed to cow Kullervo. The orange dragon dodged in under Nöst's chin and bit him in the throat, not hard, but with enough strength that he felt it. Nöst roared again and lashed out with a massive foreleg, sending Kullervo flying. Kullervo landed on his side, and Nöst rushed at him again, mouth opening to belch fire. Vandana and Raluvimbha darted in to restrain their superior, and he eventually subsided, but not before he had struck both of them several times. The two senior dragons turned their heads to avoid his talons, but did not try and fight back. In the end Vrael went to his partner's side and calmed him with a touch, and Nöst returned to his place, growling and lashing his tail.

Kullervo got up. Utterly unintimidated, he took several steps toward Vrael, his golden eyes ablaze. _'You are fools and cowards,'_ he snarled, his tones ringing with contempt for all of them. _'I saw it before, and now I see it again. You think the races of this land are yours to command, but no more. The dwarves no longer follow you, the humans have turned on you, and soon this land will not be yours any longer. You have destroyed yourselves by your stupidity. Hear me now, Vrael. The pact between elf and dragon has been broken. We gave you our eggs and our magic when you agreed that the riders would defend and glorify both our races. That promise was not kept. You used the power we gave you to glorify yourselves, and you ignored us. We are not your lackeys, to bond ourselves to you and become your servants. We are our own race, our own kind. We will not give our eggs to you, and nor will we fight for you. You failed us, and unless you can prove that you have changed, I will consider our alliance finished. The wild dragons are going into retreat. We will withdraw into our territory and we will not leave it again until a better time has come. The riders are doomed. Find a way to save yourselves if you can, but the dragons will not help you.'_

He stopped speaking and lashed out with his claws, knocking Vrael violently to the floor. Before the others could attack him, he turned and dashed away across the smooth white floor and launched himself into the air. Nöst, Vandana and Raluvimbha began to chase him, but stopped at the lip of the cave and watched him fly away into the night, up toward the stars until he had vanished.


	46. Choices

Chapter Forty-Six

Choices

In the dining hall at Dras-Leona, Galbatorix, Orwyne, Vander and Tuomas had finished eating. Galbatorix had related the happenings in Gil'ead and had heard a more detailed account from Vander and Orwyne of what they had been doing in Dras-Leona after capturing it. They had then discussed strategy for a while, and Galbatorix had used his glass of wine to scry Durza and tell him the news. The Shade had reported that all was well in Gil'ead, but that Glaedr had managed to fight through the paralysis spell and make his escape. Still, with only three legs and without his rider, the gold dragon would not be much of a threat. Oromis was still secure, and so was Carina.

'So,' said Galbatorix, once the important conversation was over and they were sitting back to enjoy some more wine and a few bowls of almond milk pudding. 'Orwyne… I didn't know you had a son.'

'It neve really came up,' said Orwyne. 'But… well, you see, some time ago when Roland was the governor here, I happened to meet him here at the castle. I wasn't a rider then; I was just a wine-seller. All the Redwyns were, actually. Anyway, I was at the castle overseeing some wine deliveries, and I met Roland here. He'd only just finished his training at the time, and we weren't that far apart in age, although of course riders age more slowly than ordinary humans… anyway, we got to talking while we were here – I'd been delayed because of a mix-up with the order and had to ask permission to stay a little longer. I have to say, when I found myself actually meeting a _rider,_ I nearly wet myself. But then when Roland came in, I just looked at him and said; "who are you? I'm waiting for Lord Roland to come". I couldn't help it, he just looked so ordinary… anyway, he just looked at me and started laughing, and when I asked him what was so funny he asked me what riders were supposed to look like, so I told him what I thought, and before I knew it we were chatting away like we'd known each other for years. In the end he admitted he was Lord Roland, and I was so shocked I just laughed. When the wine finally arrived he invited me to drink it with him and tell him a little about how it'd been made… we ate together, in the end. And then the next day he came looking for me. I asked him why and he gave some excuse… it was so obvious he'd just made something up I nearly laughed at him again.' She smiled. 'Short version is, we fell for each other. I was all ready and willing to marry him, actually, but after I suggested it he suddenly went all quiet. It took ages to get him to talk, and he explained that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me but he was miserable because he knew he couldn't. He was a rider; he'd outlive me. And I knew he was right. It was terrible. We tried to talk it out between us, but we just couldn't. In the end we agreed we ought to separate, so I went back home. But I just couldn't do it. I was miserable. I kept thinking about him and wishing he was there; I couldn't work, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat… I felt dead inside. I spent a year or so like that, and it never got any easier. Then an order came in from Dras-Leona. Ten barrels of the finest red. I nearly didn't go, but my friends talked me into it. Said if I didn't go there and see Roland again I'd regret it forever. So I went, and he was there, and when I saw him again…' she sighed. 'It was the most wonderful moment of my life. We spent a whole day and night together, just talking and… well, being together.' Orwyne broke off there, her expression distant. 'Roderick was conceived that night. And then, next morning… Roland was gone. I searched the whole castle for him, but he just wasn't there. When I asked someone, they said he'd left early that morning for Ellesméra. It was awful. Just awful. I felt like my heart had been ripped out. He'd run off on me. He hadn't even stopped to say goodbye. I felt so betrayed… I stayed around for a while, but eventually I decided he wasn't coming back, so I went home. A few days later I realised I was pregnant. I didn't know what to do. How could I look after a child on my own, and when I had a business to run? But then, that night…' she smiled, almost dreamily. 'He came back. Came to my little winery, riding on Keth's back. I ran out to meet him, and he apologised again and again for running away. But he'd gone to Ellesméra for a reason. You see, that morning he'd had a wild idea. The sort of wild idea you don't talk about in case just doing that puts you off. That was how he put it. He went to Ellesméra as fast as he could, and talked to old Einás the Egg-Guardian there. Somehow he persuaded her to let him take some of the dragon eggs she had, and he brought them to me. I nearly died of shock when I saw them. Somehow he talked me into handling them, so I did, and then… a miracle happened.'

'One of them hatched!' said Tuomas, unable to restrain himself.

Orwyne laughed. 'That's right. That day I became a rider. Right there on the grass outside the Redwyn Winery, still wearing my nightgown. Calanon hatched for me. Me, Orwyne Redwyne, twenty-five years old, who'd never gone to the Rider Trials or visited Ellesméra or anything. It was the most incredible moment of my life.'

'What did the riders say?' said Galbatorix.

'Well, there was a bit of a stir,' Orwyne admitted. 'Actually, a lot of a stir. Roland got into trouble, and so did Einás. But I was a rider, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. In the end they told Roland that, since he'd made me a rider, it was up to him to train me. And so he did. I sold the winery and came here to live with him in the castle, and he taught me magic and swordplay. And when Roderick was born, we both raised him. Roland got him a job working in the kitchens when he was fifteen. He did go to the Trials one year, but he didn't get through them. Still, he's our son, for better or worse. Better, Roland always says, but sometimes the cheeky little beggar gives me doubts.' She smiled fondly.

Galbatorix chuckled. 'That's quite a story. The things we do for love, eh?'

Orwyne nodded. 'Oh yes. It makes us all a little mad, I think.'

'Yes…' Galbatorix stared at nothing, and sighed deeply, suddenly pensive. He was thinking of Flell. For riders, love was not easy. But perhaps love was hard for everyone. With this thought, a sudden and powerful sense of longing rose inside his chest. He wasn't sure if it was for Laela, or Skade, or Flell. Perhaps it was for all three.

He stood up. 'I'd better go and see these riders you've got in the dungeon.'

'Oh,' said Orwyne. 'All right. Hadn't you better get some rest first, though?'

'Time waits for no man, Orwyne,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll see you later. But I'd appreciate it if there could be a hammock waiting for me when I get back.'

Orwyne smiled. 'Oh, I had one put up ages ago, sir.'

Galbatorix nodded and left.

Down in the dungeons, he found a number of ordinary human prisoners sitting miserably in their cells – they had attempted to rebel against the new rulers of the city and been arrested for their trouble. Unlike those in Gil'ead, these cells had doors of solid wood, each one set with a little barred window at head-height. Galbatorix walked past them, glancing through at the prisoners until he found the two riders. They were in the two largest cells at the end of the row, which had been made to accommodate more important prisoners and had good furniture and proper beds.

Galbatorix chose one of them arbitarily, and looked in at him. His fellow rider was human and clad in blue. His dark blonde hair was neatly cropped, and he was sitting on the chair provided with his head in his hands, unaware of being watched.

Galbatorix paused, sighed, and slipped in through the door with scarcely a sound. The other rider didn't hear him, and he closed the door as gently as he could and walked silently to stand just in front of him, looking down at him. He folded his arms and waited, unspeaking, until the man looked up and saw him.

The other rider's eyes widened, and he jerked backward in fright, but he made no sound or move to attack and stayed rooted to the chair, staring up at Galbatorix in mute terror.

Galbatorix looked back at him, his eyes two bottomless pools. 'Good evening,' he said, keeping his voice level. 'I'm pleased to meet you, Shur'tugal. What's your name, may I ask?'

The man swallowed. 'I am… my name's… I'm Elric. Elric Radford.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'A good name.' He sat down on a stool, keeping his hands clearly visible. 'As for me, my name is Galbatorix Taranisäii.'

Elric had gone white. 'Oh gods…' he moaned.

'Calm down, Elric,' said Galbatorix. 'Unless you attack me, you're in no danger here. I'm sorry you've been forced to wait like this, but I asked my followers to keep you comfortable. Have you had enough to eat?'

Elric managed a nod. 'Yes, yes, I'm f-fine.'

'Good. A rider deserves respect. Please, calm down. I'm only a threat to my enemies. I've come here to help you, not hurt you. Just hold still.'

He held his hand out, palm forward. Elric went rigid, clutching the arms of the chair. 'Oh gods,' he said again. 'Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…'

Galbatorix ignored him. He recited the dark elvish spell and let the dark energy from his hand envelop the other rider, dissolving the power of the oath that bound him. When it was over, he lowered his hand.

'It's over now, Elric. See? That didn't hurt at all, did it?'

Elric opened his eyes and hastily inspected his hands, patting himself down to make sure he was unharmed. Then he looked at Galbatorix. 'What – what did you do?'

'I have removed your oath,' said Galbatorix. 'The one you swore to the elders. From now on, you're free to do as you please. Your loyalty is to yourself and no-one else. Unless you choose to swear it to someone else.'

Elric relaxed very slightly. 'You're going to kill me, aren't you?' he said dully. 'That's what you're here for. You're going to kill me for what I did to your friend. You're going to kill me, you're going to… oh gods…' he closed his eyes.

'I am not going to kill you,' Galbatorix said loudly. 'Not unless you force me to. And I hope you don't. I think of you as a friend, Elric. As someone who needs help. You were a slave, but now you are free. I gave that to you, and I ask for nothing in return.'

Elric dared to open his eyes. 'Your friend… is he…?'

'He's well,' said Galbatorix. 'We were able to heal him. And I'm sure he'll forgive you. He knows – we all know – that you did what you did because you had no choice. Your oath was controlling you, just as we were once controlled. We dared to rebel, and now the elders want us dead. What do you want, Elric?'

'I don't want to die,' said Elric. 'I don't want Sytha to die. I want to get out of this place.'

'And you can,' said Galbatorix. He gestured at the walls and the barred door of the cell, and let his voice take on a new note of passion. 'These walls, this cell, are of your making, Elric. You can unmake them if you want to. Blind loyalty to the elders ended thousands of lives and made this country a wasteland dominated by elves. If you can find the power to open your eyes to the truth, if you can let yourself see that there is a need for us to fight back, then you can leave this cell. You can go to Sytha again and fly free as you were meant to. You can live again, and you can fight to keep your freedom and your life. All you have to do is join us.'

Elric said nothing.

'Join us,' Galbatorix said again. 'Join me. The Shur'tugal were formed to fight for justice, and that is what we're doing. We are breaking free of the tyranny of the elves, and we will free this whole country from them as well. You can help us do this, Elric.' He placed a hand on his chest. 'For justice. For the gods. For freedom.' He smiled very slightly, remembering Morzan's contribution to that list, but said nothing more.

Elric sat up a little straighter. 'That's it?' he said. 'That's all you want me to do? Just… join you, and I'll be let out of here?'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'Take an oath to follow me, and I will let you out of here and take you back to Sytha. She's unhurt, and she's waiting for you. You'll be given back your magic and your sword, and from then on you'll be able to go wherever you like in the city. You'll be treated as one of us. And when the war is over and the elders have been punished, you'll be free to go where you like and live how you choose, just as every man should.'

Elric looked at the floor. 'I don't… I'm not…'

'Not what?' said Galbatorix. 'Not a traitor? You'd only be a traitor to the elders. And look where their leadership got you. A cell. And look where it got the country – to civil war. The dwarves have retreated. The elves are failing. Soon we will be ready to attack Ilirea, and when that happens I will kill Vrael and set the land free. A new age will begin. A better age. A free age. That will be my gift to you, and to all others who help me do what must be done.'

Elric raised his head. 'My sister,' he said hoarsely. 'Where is she? Is she safe?'

'Your sister?'

'Her name's Ana,' said Elric. 'She was… she was captured with me. I don't know where she is.'

'Your sister is in the next cell,' said Galbatorix. 'She's unhurt.'

'Will you let her go?'

'If she lets me, then I will,' said Galbatorix. He stood up. 'I will go and talk to her now. You stay here. Rest. Eat. Think about what I said. You can have all the time I need.'

Elric nodded. 'Yes.. sir. But please…' he reached out to grab Galbatorix's arm, but thought better of it. 'Please don't hurt Ana. I'm begging you.'

'I won't,' Galbatorix promised. 'I'll see you later, Elric.'

He left the cell, locking the door behind him. Outside, he leaned against the wall of the corridor and breathed deeply. The pent-up tension inside him finally rose to the surface, and he actually trembled a little as he forced himself to calm down. When he'd relaxed again, he quickly located the cell containing the other rider and entered it.

Elric's sister, who shared his blonde hair, was sleeping when Galbatorix came into her cell. He closed the door and gently nudged her awake. She opened her eyes, saw him, and sat up sharply with a mighty oath.

Galbatorix stood back and waited for her to collect herself. She looked him up and down, not quite as frightened as her brother had been, but drew herself back into the corner very quickly. 'Who are you?' she demanded.

Galbatorix bowed slightly. 'Galbatorix Taranisäii,' he said. 'And you?'

The woman shivered at the sound of his name. 'I'm Ana,' she said tersely. 'Ana Radford.'

'Pleased to meet you, Ana,' said Galbatorix. 'Can I get you anything?'

Ana shook her head. 'I'm… fine.' She was watching him warily, poised to defend herself if he attacked.

'Be calm,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm not here to hurt you. Incidently, your dragon's injuries have been healed. He's fine.'

'What about Elric?' said Ana. 'My brother – he's not…?'

'Elric is in the cell next door,' said Galbatorix. 'He and his dragon are also safe and healthy. I just spoke to Elric myself; he asked if you were all right. What should I tell him, Ana?'

'Tell him I'm all right,' said Ana. 'Please.'

'But are you all right?' said Galbatorix.

Ana hesitated. 'Yes. Your friends didn't hurt me much. Look, if you're going to ask me to join you-,'

Galbatorix couldn't help it; he chuckled. 'You're very bold, aren't you? I like that.'

'If you're going to ask me to join you,' Ana repeated, 'I've already got an answer for you.'

'Don't be hasty,' Galbatorix advised.

'I'm not,' said Ana. 'I thought it over very carefully. The answer's yes.'

Galbatorix blinked. 'Oh?'

Ana nodded. 'Yes, I'll join you. If you don't hurt Elric.'

Galbatorix hadn't been expecting this. 'Can I ask why?'

'Why?' said Ana, almost wildly. 'Why? Well because I don't want to die, that's why. Even if you didn't have me locked up like this, if I'd stayed with the elders I'd still have died in the end. I'm not an idiot… my Lord. You're winning this war. And the oldest law of warfare is "don't be on the losing side". I've seen what happens to the losing side before, and I'd rather it didn't happen to me.'

'Well, you're more than welcome to join me,' said Galbatorix, successfully hiding his surprise. 'Just hold still a moment… I'll remove your oath.'

'So you really _do_ have the power to do that?' said Ana.

Galbatorix nodded. He held out his hand and cast the spell. Ana held still, and when it was done she opened her eyes and said; 'Is it over yet?'

'Yes. You're free now.'

Ana pushed back her hair. 'Thankyou, sir. But first things first. What about Elric? What's he said?'

'I made him an offer,' Galbatorix said carefully. 'I said he would be set free if he joined us, and I set him free of his oath. I left him to think it over.'

Ana nodded briskly. 'He'll say yes once I've spoken to him.' She got up off the bed and straightened her clothes. Now she was standing, Galbatorix saw she was nearly as tall as him. Her features were pointed and intelligent, and she had dark blue eyes. She bowed to him. 'I'm at your command, sir. If you'll hand me a knife, I'll cut my ears. I already know that part. And I'll take an oath to serve you. What else do I have to do?'

'That's all,' said Galbatorix. 'Just that. As soon as you've taken your oath, I'll give you back your magic and your sword and you can leave this cell and go to your dragon.'

Ana considered it. 'All right then.' She placed a hand on her chest. 'I, Ana Radford of Radford Dale, swear by my life, my soul and my blood that I and my dragon, Abern, will be loyal to you, Galbatorix Taranisäii, Lord of the Forsworn. We will fight beside you and do your bidding until we die or until you choose to release us.' She spoke clearly and steadily, pronouncing each ancient-language word with care, and when she was done she lowered her hand. 'There. I'm ready now, sir.'

'Thankyou, Ana,' said Galbatorix.

She shrugged. 'It was the only sensible route to take, sir. May I have my magic back now?'

Galbatorix said nothing. He entered her mind as gently as he could, and removed the mental block that kept her from accessing her magic and talking to her dragon. She felt it and sighed. 'Ahhhh… that's better. May I have a knife, please?'

Galbatorix unsheathed his dagger and gave it to her. She sat down, paused to brace herself, and lifted the blade to her ear. Galbatorix winced slightly as she cut away the pointed tip, gritting her teeth and swearing. Her fingers sticky with blood, she tossed aside the severed piece of flesh and healed the wound before moving on to the other. Afterwards she wiped the dagger clean on her tunic and gave it back. 'All right,' she said, a little shakily. 'All finished.'

Galbatorix put his dagger back into its sheath. 'Come with me.'

He led her out into the corridor and into Elric's cell. The yellow-haired man was standing up and waiting for them, and when Ana went in first he let out an exclaimation of joy and ran to embrace her. She held him tightly, and Galbatorix hung back and let them reassure each other.

As Elric let go of his sister, he saw her ears and his eyes widened. 'Ana, did you…?'

Ana nodded. 'Yes, El, I did. I've joined up with the Forsworn.'

Elric moved back a little, casting a wary glance at Galbatorix. 'Ana…'

'Come on now, Elric, you know it's the only sensible thing to do,' Ana said firmly. 'You can't sit in here and rot forever. Just take the oath. It's not hard.'

Elric rubbed his head. 'But what about the elders?'

'Bugger the elders,' said Ana. 'Who cares about them? They're losing the war, anyone can see that. Idiots haven't got a clue. I don't want to die. And I don't want _you_ to die, either.'

Elric looked at her, and then at Galbatorix again. 'All right,' he said at last. 'All right. I suppose you're right, Ana.'

Ana hugged him again. 'I knew you'd see sense, El,' she said cheerfully. 'Knew it.' She turned to Galbatorix. 'He's in,' she said unnecessarily.

Galbatorix smiled slightly. 'I can see that.'

Elric came forward. 'I swear…' he stopped, straightened up, and put a hand on his chest in the proper manner. 'Uh… I, Elric Radford of Radford Vale, swear by my soul, my life and my blood that I and my dragon, Sytha, will be loyal to you, Galbatorix Taranisäii, and that we will fight beside you and do your bidding until we die or until you release us.'

Galbatorix handed him the dagger. 'Thankyou, Elric. Now complete it. Reclaim your humanity.'

Elric tested the blade on his thumb. 'I'm not sure…'

'It's all right, El,' said Ana. 'You can handle a little pain, right?'

Elric sighed. 'All right, all right. Good gods…' he sat down and started to cut, though he did it hesitantly and kept stopping and whimpering. Ana looked on impatiently, but didn't try and interfere. When he'd completed one ear, she gently reached out and healed it and then waited for him to do the next one. Galbatorix, looking on, resisted the urge to laugh. For a moment, seeing the two of them together, he wished he had had siblings.

'Right,' he said, once Elric had finished. He removed the mental block with ease, and made for the door. 'Come with me, you two. You're free.'

He led them to a guardroom and retrieved their swords from a cupboard, giving them back along with their sheathes. They took them gratefully, and went with him out into a courtyard, where their dragons lay, unable to move.

Galbatorix lifted the paralysis spell and stood back while the two riders were reunited with their dragons, and afterwards the two of them were allowed to go up to the dragon roost, where there was food and water waiting for them.

Ana and Elric watched them go, then turned toward their new master. 'We're ready when you are, sir,' said Ana.

'Let's go, then,' said Galbatorix. 'It's time for you to meet some of your new friends. And you'll get some fresh clothes and so on as well. Of course.'

He took them up to the dining hall, and there they found not just Vander and Orwyne but Roland as well. The old rider was walking slowly around the table, testing his newly-healed legs with the help of a walking stick. When Galbatorix entered with Ana and Elric behind him, he turned to see them enter, and smiled. 'Good evening, sir! Roland Drasborn, up and ready to go into battle again. And… by the Three Peaks, are these…?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'Everyone, these are Ana and Elric Radford. The two newest members of the Forsworn.'

'They've taken oaths?' said Orwyne.

'We both have,' Ana said boldly. She went forward without prompting, and bowed to the three of them. 'I'm very sorry for what happened earlier. Now I've joined you, I'm hoping we can put it behind us.'

'We certainly can,' Roland said graciously. 'All of us were in your position before.'

'So we were,' Vander agreed. 'But like you we saw the light.'

'To heck with the light, I just don't want to die,' said Ana. She gestured impatiently at Elric, who came forward, albeit very slowly.

Roland saw him coming, and limped toward him. 'Ah. Greetings to you, young man. I think we've met.'

Elric looked as if he was hoping the roof would suddenly fall in. 'I'm sorry, my Lord,' he said at last. 'I really… if there's anything I can do to make up for it…'

'Not to worry, lad,' Roland said heartily. 'I'm a little banged up, but I'll live. And let us not forget that I could well have killed you or your sister if you had not fought back. In a situation like that, it's all or nothing.'

That seemed to calm Elric down a lot. 'Well, all right,' he said. 'But I still owe you a service. If there's ever anything I can do to help you, say so and I'll do it.'

Roland nodded. 'Understood. I shall remember that, Elric. Now, won't you and your sister join us at the table? I believe we have things to discuss, so we may as well begin.'

'Indeed we do,' said Galbatorix. He seated himself at the head of the table, and waited for the others to choose their own places. 'Where's Tuomas, by the way?'

'On the wall, keeping watch,' said Vander. 'He's got very good eyesight, hasn't he?'

Galbatorix hesitated. 'We should probably let him stay there, then. Best if we have a good pair of eyes up there. Now, Roland, have the other two given you my news?'

'That they have,' said Roland. 'A very good report all round, I would think. With the Elder Oromis safely under lock and key, we are that much stronger. The situation with the wild dragons is less encouraging, but it could be worse. At least they aren't actively helping the elders or likely to do so anytime soon.'

'Excuse me, sir?' said Ana. 'Could I say something?'

'Go ahead,' said Galbatorix.

'Well, sir,' said Ana. 'If I might make a suggestion… that is, it'd be a good idea to capture Vroengard and Teirm next, if you want to dominate the rest of the country. The elders aren't going to leave Ilirea. They're too scared.'

'We've already discussed that,' said Galbatorix. 'Teirm will be next. Once we've captured it and Vroengard, we're going to lead an army of humans up into Du Weldenvarden and destroy the elves.'

'A good plan,' said Ana. 'As I'd have expected from you. I hope this isn't too much too fast, but I'd be willing to attack Teirm. I know it very well – I was governor there for a while. I'll take Elric with me, and maybe one or two others. We could do it easily. I know which riders are there; Vindigh's only half-trained, and Martain's an old fogey.'

Galbatorix thought carefully. Even though the other rider had taken an oath, giving her such an important mission so quickly felt very hasty. 'It's a good idea,' he said at length, being careful not to betray his thoughts. 'We'll have to talk it over first.'

Ana grinned at him. 'Yes, I know. You don't know if you can trust me yet. Well, that's fine. I'll tell you what I know, and you can make up your own mind.'

Galbatorix yawned. 'Yes… look, everyone, I'm very sorry, but I need to rest. Stay here and talk things over, see if you can come up with anything… Orwyne, make sure Ana and Elric get plenty to eat and a decent place to sleep. They're our friends now.'

'Right you are, sir,' said Orwyne.

Next morning, when Galbatorix had washed and eaten, he gathered Orwyne, Vander and Roland together along with Elric and Ana – both of whom had fresh clothes and were looking much happier – in the dining hall once again, leaving Tuomas outside to keep watch with the dragons.

Once everyone was seated, Galbatorix placed a bowl of water in the middle of the table and spread his hand over it. 'Draumr kópa.' He concentrated on Durza, and found him. While the others looked on, the Shade looked up out of the water. _Good morning, my Lord. Are you well?_

'Well enough, Durza,' Galbatorix answered. 'Are things well in Gil'ead?'

_Yes, my Lord. A rider flew over the city last night – he made no attempt to attack. We don't know who he was, but he was going toward Vroengard. They know we're here, but they are not attacking. Perhaps they lack the strength._

'Good. Go and find Morzan and the others. Gather them together. We're going to discuss what to do next.'

_Yes, my Lord._

Galbatorix looked up at his friends. 'He'll be a few moments. This is a bit of a complicated method of talking to the others, but it should work. We can consult Morzan and Tranah and the rest, and get their opinions about an attack on Teirm.'

'Yes, sir,' said Vander. 'I agree with Ana that it should be done quickly. And Vroengard must be taken as well.'

Not long later, Durza reported that he had found Morzan, Tranah and Strein. _Speak now,_ said the Shade. _I will relay your messages._

The discussion began. Galbatorix introduced Elric and Ana to the others in Gil'ead, all of whom were very pleased to hear of the new additions to the Forsworn, and after that it was time to get down to business. Several plans to attack Vroengard and Teirm were put forward, discussed, discarded and reformed. Everyone had suggestions, even Kaelyn and Gern, who joined the meeting partway through, and later Tuomas as well.

The talking went on for hours, but few of them noticed. All of them knew that things were about to take an important turn.

By lunchtime, it had been decided that Ana and Elric would attack Teirm, with Orwyne. Morzan, Tranah and Vander would go to Vroengard, and Galbatorix would return to Gil'ead to help defend it with Strein, while Roland took charge of Dras-Leona. Durza would go to help him. Kaelyn and Gern would stay in Gil'ead with Galbatorix, while Tuomas would stay with Roland. Leaving only two riders in Dras-Leona was an unpleasant option, but they decided that since Gil'ead was closest to Ilirea and the obvious threat it posed, it would need the most defenders.

They decided that the attack on Teirm would take place as soon as they had made some more detailed plans in that direction, and once they had positive confirmation that it had been captured they would launch the assault on Vroengard. Once both of these cities had fallen, they would be ready to sweep Northwards into Du Weldenvarden.

Once all these decisions had been made, Galbatorix finally dissolved the scrying spell and announced that it was time for lunch.

But even while they ate, they planned.

By evening, the Teirm attack had been settled. Ana, Elric and Orwyne went to prepare. At dawn, they would leave. Galbatorix went to his hammock that night with his mind still buzzing with ideas and worries and tension, and it gave him bad dreams.

He dreamed that he was standing in the middle of a darkened room, all alone. His sword was clasped loosely in one hand, and there was an expression of shock on his face. He took two staggering steps backward, and as he turned, he saw the dagger embedded in his heart. Then he fell, crumpling to the ground, his sword falling out of his hand, and he saw the elders come forward to stare down at him.

_Arren Cardockson is dead._

_The boy is insane._

_Take him away and whip him, the boy is insane. Tomorrow he will die the traitor's death. Tomorrow he dies._

_The boy is insane._

_Tomorrow he dies._

_Tomorrow…_


	47. Vroengard

Chapter Forty-Seven

Vroengard

On the following day, Ana, Elric and Orwyne departed. They bid goodbye to their friends and their leader, climbed onto their dragons and flew away North, toward Teirm.

Galbatorix watched them go with a horrible feeling of apprehension, perhaps stemming from the lingering effects of his dream.

But it was a feeling that proved unfounded. Not long after his return to Gil'ead, he received word from Orwyne. Teirm had been captured. In fact, as soon as the three riders had appeared on the horizon, those holding the castle had surrendered rather than fight back and be killed. They had gone peacefully to the dungeons, and Teirm now belonged to its former governor.

At around this time, a message came from Dras-Leona that reported something rather less encouraging.

The dragons had disappeared. They hadn't been killed; they had simply… gone. The inhabitants of Dras-Leona had long been accustomed to seeing them flying over the mountains, lighting up the sky in the evening when they signalled their presence to each other with roaring and flames, but now there was nothing. One day they were there, and the next they were gone, and people were claiming that Galbatorix had somehow wiped them all out for refusing to help him. Roland and Tuomas had ventured into the Spine to look for them, but found nothing. No bodies. No sign. It was as if they had simply vanished from the face of the earth.

A mere two days after that, when Morzan had nearly completed his preparations to go to Vroengard, Kaelyn, who'd been on the walls keeping a lookout, came running to find Galbatorix.

'There's some urgals coming toward the city, sir,' she said.

Galbatorix stood up. 'Urgals?'

'Yes, sir. A lot of them. They don't look like they're attacking.'

When Galbatorix went up onto the battlements to look for himself, he quickly saw that "a lot of them" was something of an understatement. The army of urgals slowly making its way toward Gil'ead was massive. There were at least two thousand of the brutes, each one huge and hulking, brutish, horned heads decorated with crow feathers and bone ornaments.

Galbatorix watched them for a few moments, and then dashed off toward the dragon roost. Shruikan was awake and ready for him, and he climbed onto the black dragon's back and settled in the saddle. _'Let's go and meet them.'_

'_Are they attacking us?'_ Shruikan asked.

'_I hope not. Because if they are, we're in trouble.'_

When the urgals saw him coming, they abruptly halted their march and formed themselves into a massive defensive line, raising spears and bows in readiness to attack. Shruikan landed out of arrow-range, and he and Galbatorix walked the rest of the way toward them, both careful to move slowly so that their advance would not be mistaken for an attack. When he was close enough, Galbatorix raised his hand, showing the gedwëy ignaesia, and called a greeting in the urgal language, which he had memorised during his training for just such an occasion as this. The apparent leader of the urgals returned it, and Galbatorix halted to let him come forward to meet him.

The leader came, flanked by two huge warriors bearing fur-covered shields, and he and Galbatorix met halfway between the castle and the army.

Galbatorix kept still and let the urgal inspect him. He was a Kull, a giant kind of urgal, so huge that he towered even over Galbatorix. He wore thick leather bands on his arms, which served to make his biceps look even bigger, and his rough clothes were decorated with bones and teeth. Once he had looked Galbatorix up and down, he made a little grunt of satisfaction and lowered his head toward him, displaying his huge chipped horns.

Galbatorix returned the gesture, then lifted his head, exposing his throat to the urgal in his kind's gesture of trust.

The urgal seemed pleased. 'You are rider,' he said in a deep, rough voice.

Galbatorix nodded. 'I am. What is your name, my Lord?'

'I am named Kvarn,' said the urgal. 'I am Kull and chief of my tribe. We have come to find the prince who was promised. Now we have found him. Are you he?'

Galbatorix paused. 'I am Galbatorix Traeganni, last King of the dark elves. My kind is friend to yours, Nar Kvarn. If you would honour the old alliance of our tribes, then I will lead you to victory against our enemies.' He spoke slowly and carefully, in dark elvish.

Kvarn grunted. 'You are dark elf,' he said. 'You are Traeganni. My kind have lived as outcasts for eight hundred years, just as yours has. Now a dark elf has become rider, the time has come. Our tribes have joined, as they did long ago, and I have become their great chief. We come to fight for a Traeganni again. You are our great chief now.'

Galbatorix bowed. 'I would be honoured, Nar Kvarn.'

Kvarn returned the bow, then straightened up, lifted his head to the sky and bellowed. Behind him, the massive urgal army bellowed back. It was their warcry, and Galbatorix felt it put power into him. He stood tall and addressed all of them, using magic to amplify his voice. 'I am Galbatorix Traeganni!' he shouted. 'I am the last King of the dark elves! The leaders of the riders are the enemies of our kind, and now the time has come for them to be punished! We will bring them to justice, and we will wipe out the Southern elves as they once did to us! Once we have done this, and peace has come, I will give you back the land that was stolen from you, and I will give you back your rights! That is my promise!'

The urgals bellowed again in response, some calling his name. Shruikan roared, and the chanting grew louder.

Galbatorix smiled to himself. He knew what to do now. The time for the elves to pay for their crimes had come.

Once he and Kvarn had agreed that the urgals would make camp just outside the city, Galbatorix returned to the castle. He sought out the others and began giving them their orders with scarcely a pause.

'Morzan, Tranah, it's time for you to go to Vroengard. Leave first thing in the morning. Kaelyn, you'll go to Teirm. Give Orwyne a message from me – I'll write it down straight away. Gern, you'll go to Dras-Leona with another message. We're ready to fight the elves on their own territory.'

Within the space of half an hour he had drafted two messages, one for Roland and one for Orwyne. Both of them stated that they were to muster together all the troops they could and lead them Northwards, toward Gil'ead. As soon as they had arrived they would join with Kvarn's urgals, and Galbatorix himself would lead them into Du Weldenvarden to attack the elves. Morzan would chase after them as soon as he had taken Vroengard.

At dawn the next day, Galbatorix met with his friends on the dragon roost. Kaelyn and Gern had saddled their dragons and were ready to go.

Galbatorix handed a scroll of paper to Kaelyn. 'For Orwyne. Don't lose it. What have you done with the eggs?'

'They're in my bedchamber,' said Kaelyn. 'I hid them in the clothes chest.'

'Good. I'll see you later, Kaelyn. Good luck.'

Kaelyn nodded rather formally, and Sartago flew away. Galbatorix gave Gern the other scroll. 'Fly quickly, Gern. I know I can rely on you.'

'You can, Master,' said Gern. 'I'll see you in a few days.'

The boy tucked the scroll into his tunic, and Leahdorus flew away with a flick of her orange wings.

Morzan, Tranah and Vander had prepared as well. Their dragons were armoured – it would slow them down, but they had decided it would be a calculated risk – and they had prepared several firebombs.

Galbatorix hugged Morzan. 'Good luck, Morzan. Fight with everything you've got. I know you'll be able to do it.'

Morzan returned the hug. 'An' you look after yourself, right, sir?'

'I will if you will,' said Galbatorix.

Morzan grinned and climbed onto Idün's back. 'It's a deal, then.'

The red dragon waited until Tranah and Vander were ready, and then she hooked her claws around one of the waiting firebombs and took somewhat clumsily to the air. She managed to lift a second firebomb with a hind leg, and practically fell from the roost. Before she hit the castle wall she opened her wings and swooped upward, letting a warm thermal lift her into the clouds. There she levelled out and began to glide steadily away Westwards, Ymazu and Aedua following close behind her.

Morzan spent much of the journey in a state of high tension. _'We haven't fought anyone in ages,' _he said to Idün. _'Felt like the war was practically over, didn't it?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Idün. _'I was getting very bored in Gil'ead. I never realised it would be like this. The war, I mean. That there'd be so much waiting.'_

'_Well we won't be waitin' much longer,'_ said Morzan. _'We're gonna win. I ain't scared any more. We're gonna win.'_

On his post on the wall of the great fort that dominated the island of Vroengard, Brom yawned and pulled his cloak around his shoulders. The night breezes kept pulling it away. Beside him, Saphira rustled her wings. _'Tired?'_

'_Hmm? Oh, a little. Bored, mostly. How are you holding up?'_

'_I'm all right,'_ said Saphira. _'And I don't care what you say; I'm glad to be here.'_

Brom scowled and gripped the hilt of his blue-bladed sword, Íssbrandr. _'I'll never be glad to be a coward. We're traitors, Saphira. All those people back on the mainland trusted us to protect them, but we left them to suffer.'_

'_We didn't have any choice,'_ Saphira said sharply. _'You know that. Would you prefer the alternative?'_

'_But it's our fault,'_ said Brom. _'Yours and mine. Why should innocent people suffer because of something we did? We set him free. We unleashed him.'_

'_You didn't know,'_ said Saphira. _'You have to stop blaming yourself, Brom. You didn't ask him to do what he did. You did what you thought was right. You can't hate yourself for that.'_

'"_Even a virtuous deed can be used to serve evil",'_ said Brom. _'That's what Oromis told me. And now…'_ he stared vacantly at the glints of starlight that shifted over the surface of the ocean below them.

'_Even so,'_ said Saphira. _'There's no evil in you, Brom, and there never will be. Put it out of your mind.'_

Brom sighed and resumed watching the sea. _'I wonder what the elves' homeland is like?'_ he said eventually. _'D'you think we'll ever see it?'_

'_Maybe. Did Oromis ever say what it was called?'_

'_Alalea, I think. That always puts me in mind of a pretty girl with flowers in her hair, for some reason. I asked him why the elves left it, but he wouldn't say.'_

'_Well, it's a good thing, no matter what the reason behind it was,'_ said Saphira. _'They brought a blessing to this country with them. Their wisdom changed us all, and for the better.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Brom. _'If only… I can understand why some of them don't like humans. No grace, no patience, no… purity? Yes, that's the word. We don't have their purity. We're so crude next to them… it's almost embarrassing. And we're corruptible, too. But not always by ourselves. We fall prey to temptations and the dark side of magic. Like…'_ he glared at the darkness, feeling a hot, sick surge of anger in his stomach.

'_Yes…'_ Saphira shared a sense of deep sadness. _'There is so much evil in the world, and it taints people so easily. Shades. Urgals. Dark magic, dark races.'_

Brom thought for a while. _'Did I ever tell you the story of P'aarthian Blueyes? I heard it a few weeks ago and I thought you'd like it.'_

'_No, you didn't. What's it about?'_

'_Well…'_ Brom paused to gather his thoughts. _'P'aarthian Blueyes was a young elvish noble who lived many centuries ago. Dark were his eyes, but they saw naught but blue, and so his people named him "Blueyes". His uncle was King of his people, and so Blueyes found acceptance and respect from them, but he was not content. He did wander over hill and dale and through forest, seeking for some thing that would give his life a higher purpose, but his searching was in vain. But it came to pass that one day a tale reached his ears that told of a magical fountain that lay hidden somewhere deep in the mountains of the Spine. This fountain would grant wisdom to any who drank of its waters, but it would do so only once. Blueyes heard this tale and it did prey upon his mind, night after night, until at last he could not bear it more. He took his bow and his sword and departed early one morning, determined that he would find the fountain. And so began a search that took many long years, and many adventures befell him along the way. Still, no matter how far he roamed he came no nearer to finding the object of his quest. Then one day he learned that he was not the only one who sought the fountain. Another elf was journeying with the same purpose as he – a dark elf from the North, with black eyes and black magic at her command. Tynyth Traeganni was her name, and she was both ambitious and cunning. She had been travelling as long as he, bent on finding the fountain and stealing its power for herself. When Blueyes learned of this, he travelled the faster, knowing that if she found the fountain before he did, it could bring ruin to his people. And at last he did find an old hermit who knew of it and who told him where he may find it. "But beware the treachery of Tynyth Traeganni," the hermit warned him. "She will not shrink from using lies and treachery to defeat thee, Lord Blueyes."_

_So Blueyes travelled on his way, day and night, stopping for neither rest nor food. He finally reached the place where the fountain lay, hidden in a secret glade in a forest. But he did not find it alone, for even as he set foot in the glade he saw Tynyth Traeganni enter it from the opposite side. She too was exhausted from her journey, but both of them ran to the fountain. They reached it at the same moment, and began to struggle together, each one bent on drinking the water first. They struggled for hours, neither one able to overcome the other, until at last they were forced to rest. For a day and a night they stayed in the glade, watching each other, neither willing to resume the struggle but neither one willing to leave. At last Blueyes said; "Traeganni, we cannot fight on like this. Wisdom lies in seeing when negotiation will work instead of violence. Then let us both drink, side by side, and let us both gain the wisdom of the water as one."_

'_Traeganni said; "I cannot trust you to do this, Blueyes. Therefore, let us both take an oath that we shall not deceive each other."_

'_Blueyes said; "I agree. We shall take oaths in the Ancient Language, that we may not break them." He laid his hand upon his heart and spoke an oath, binding himself to his word. When he had done, Traeganni did the same._

'"_The oath is made," she said when this was done. "Now let us drink."_

'_They stepped toward the fountain, side-by-side, and knelt, leaning over its crystal waters. They each bent low to let their lips touch it, but in that instant Traeganni struck Blueyes in the face. He fell by the waterside, screaming in his agony, blinded by her treacherous blow. Traeganni then drank from the fountain and took its power for herself, but in the instant that she stole the wisdom of the fountain, one of her eyes burned out of its socket, and she wore a patch from that day forth. _

'_Afterwards she returned to her people, who hailed her as a hero and made her their Queen. As for P'aarthian Blueyes, he found his way home after many long years of trial and suffering, and when at last he was back in safety he told his people of the treachery of Tynyth Traeganni. So it was that Eragon, first of the riders, decreed that the dark elves were henceforth forbidden to come into their lands, and would never be allowed to become riders, for a rider's way is truth, and their race was now cursed for all time to tell naught but lies._

'_But none of this could comfort P'aarthian Blueyes. He shunned his folk and walked alone through the darkness which the loss of his eyes had cursed him with, and for a hundred years he was alone in this darkness, seeking peace beyond his misery. And it did come to pass that he found a wisdom within himself, and on that day he made a prophecy. "No dark elf shall be rider, and no dark dragon shall bind himself to man or elf. But when a black egg be laid, upon a cursed day, and when dark elf and dark dragon form the bond even death cannot break, then will come misery and suffering upon us all. Then let the world beware, and night eternal fall…"_

'_Upon the speaking of this prophecy, Blueyes' sight was restored to him. His people declared it a miracle and made him their King, and he ruled them wisely for many centuries after that._

'_But from the day when Tynyth Traeganni broke her oath, dark and light elf became enemies for all time. The dark elves were driven away into the North by Eragon and the new riders he led, and from thence they could never return, for they were doomed to be liars and oathbreakers all their days.' _Brom fell silent. _'And that's the story,' _he added.

Saphira laughed at him. _'You're a terrible storyteller, Brom. Did I ever tell you that?'_

Brom did not smile. _'It's all true,'_ he said. _'It's in his blood. Did you know that?'_

'_What? I don't understand. Whose blood?'_

'His_ blood,'_ said Brom. _'His father's name was Traeganni. Skandar Traeganni. He's got her blood. The blood of Tynyth Traeganni the One-Eyed Oath-Breaker. And his mother, Ingë Taranisäii of the Ancient House of Taranis. Taranis, enemy of Eragon the First Rider. The bloodlines of two traitors, brought together in an unnatural union.'_ He shuddered. _'And that became a rider. That half-breed freak with the blood of a tyrant and an oathbreaker in his veins. His inheritance is nothing but evil.'_

'_But _he_ isn't,'_ Saphira said unexpectedly.

'_What do you mean, Saphira? How can you possibly say that?'_

'_He isn't evil,' _Saphira said again. _'How he was when we last saw him… that wasn't evil, not at all. There's still good in him. We both saw it.'_

Brom shook his head. _'No. It was an illusion, Saphira. It's not the way someone looks and speaks, it's what they do that counts. And what he did is evil. What he's still doing.'_

'_But he spared our lives,' _said Saphira. _'He let us go. He must have known we would go back to the elders and tell them what we knew, but he didn't kill us. He still remembers who he used to be. Some hint of the man we knew is still alive in him.'_

Brom sighed and stared blankly out over the sea. _'That man is dead now,'_ he said. _'We both know that. He died when Laela did and the madness took him.'_

'_He should have died with Laela,'_ Saphira said softly. _'It would have been better for him. Better for all of us.'_

'_Some things should not survive,'_ said Brom.

In the silence that followed, the young rider blinked and rubbed his eyes. He had been on sentry duty for hours, having only arrived at Vroengard that afternoon after a long journey, and his exhaustion was beginning to tell. But he forced himself to stay awake regardless, determined not to disappoint his superiors.

The long hours of darkness had nearly ended, and by now dawn had just begun to pale on the horizon. The sky was gradually turning grey, and faint hints of pink showed at the distant line where it met the sea. Brom snuggled gratefully into his cloak. Soon someone would come to relieve him and he could go below and sleep at last.

And then the world exploded.

A massive _crash_ shattered the eerie pre-dawn silence into a million pieces, and the parapet shuddered under Brom's feet. He staggered sideways, crying out in shock, but before he had even regained his balance, flames had suddenly billowed into the sky. He turned, reaching for his sword, and saw a massive crater in the roof of the dining hall below, edged with fire. _'What the-?'_

Then came another _crash,_ and another, thick and fast, and before he knew what was happening half of the fortress was ablaze. He turned in time to see a great red dragon shoot past the wall beside him and vanish into the darkness with a flick of its wings, and his shock finally receded enough to let him realise just what was happening.

'ATTACK!' he yelled. 'ATTACK!'

Saphira roared, again and again, sending her warning call out over the fort. Already other riders were rising into the air to attack the three who had suddenly appeared, circling overhead, nearly invisible in the gloom.

Brom realised his sword was already in his hand. 'Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,' he mumbled.

'_Stop that!'_ Saphira snapped. _'Get on my back, hurry!'_

The sound of her voice recalled him to his senses, and he scrambled into the saddle as fast as his stiff limbs would allow him. Saphira took off out over the sea, circled around and rose as fast as she could, heading straight for the enemy riders. The sky was lightening all the while, and Brom could see them now. One dragon was brown, one green and one… one was dark red.

The name tore itself from Brom's throat. '_MORZAN!_'

The red dragon's head turned toward them. On her back, the bulky figure of Brom's old friend raised a hand already haloed in ruby-coloured magic.

Saphira bellowed, the sound ringing with mingled fury and pain. Without pausing, without thinking, she lowered her head and shot straight toward the other dragon as fast as she could go. Idün saw her coming. She folded her wings and dropped out of the sky, heading straight for the blue dragon, her jaws opening to spit a lance of dark orange flame. Brom blocked it with magic and held on tightly, the wind tearing at him. He forced his head up, and saw Morzan even as Morzan saw him.

For a split second, the two riders looked each other in the eye. Then Idün and Saphira collided.

Idün's armoured head hit Saphira in the chest, shattering her ribs even as the blue dragon's foreclaws locked themselves around the base of her neck. Saphira let out an unearthly howl and fell backwards out of the sky, dragging Idün with her, as both Brom and Morzan tried desperately to summon their magic, hoping to somehow save themselves even as the ground rushed up to meet them.

Saphira hit the outer wall of the fort, back-first. The impact shattered her spine, and she fell limply onto the earth on the other side, landing on her side with one broken wing folded beneath her. But her claws had not let go of Idün's neck. The red dragon landed on top of Saphira, the force of her landing crumpling her armour. Saphira's talons punched straight through her neckplate and into her throat, and she screamed, blood gurgling in her throat.

Brom had been thrown out of the saddle and landed a short distance away. He did not get up.

Morzan's head had hit Idün's neck armour very hard, causing him to black out for a few seconds. Pain woke him up. He started upright, his heart skipping so fast it made him dizzy. Idün's pain reverberated through him, nearly overwhelming his senses, and he fumbled with the leg-straps, mouthing frenzied swearwords. When they wouldn't come free, he yanked his dagger out of its sheath and cut himself free, sliding sideways out of the saddle and down Idün's flank. He landed awkwardly, hurting his leg, but ran straight to Idün's head, ignoring the pain.

The red dragon lay on her front, propped up by Saphira's claws. Blood was running from the side of her mouth, but she was alive, struggling to free herself.

'_Idün!'_

Idün didn't answer. Her mind was a mass of confused animal instincts, all screaming at her at once, drowning her intelligence. She wrenched herself away from Saphira's claws with a horrible crunch of breaking bone and armour, staggered sideways and then collapsed.

Saphira did not move at all. She was dead, her chest one gaping wound edged with shattered ribs.

Morzan barely saw her. He climbed over the blue dragon's body and stumbled toward Idün, his hands outstretched. _'Idün… Idün… no…'_

Idün turned her head to look at him and collapsed, sending more pain rifling through his body. He reached her and fell to his knees, so frightened he could barely think. Horrible gurgling and rasping sounds came from Idün's throat. Her wound gaped, so huge that Morzan could fit both his hands into it, scattering blood and torn scales onto the grass beneath her. One of Saphira's claws was still embedded in it, the white fragment just visible amongst the exposed flesh. Morzan took hold of it, ignoring the hot, sticky blood that immediately drenched his hands, and pulled it out.

A mistake. The instant the broken talon came free, more blood gushed out of the hole it left behind. Idün howled, and her agony surged through Morzan all the stronger, so powerful it made him dizzy.

But he didn't panic. He spread his hand over the wound and made himself focus, bringing his magic to the surface. 'Waíse heill.'

Red magic glowed around his hand and moved onto Idün, moving over the wound and haloing every vein and muscle. Slowly, painfully slowly, the wound began to heal. Morzan's heart beat faster. He opened his mental channel as widely as he could, and poured his magic out as fast as it could go. The red light brightened until the entire wound glowed with it. The bleeding gradually stopped, and the flesh began to repair itself, little by little, draining Morzan's energy. A scar formed, and at last the pain stopped and he could withdraw his hand and close the channel again.

Morzan blinked. Everything looked grey. _'…Idün?'_ he managed.

'_Morzan? Morzan!'_

Morzan squinted at Idün's concerned face. _'I can't… see…'_ he said, and slumped onto her neck, unconscious.

As Idün tried desperately to get up, a roar came from overhead. Even as the red dragon gathered her legs beneath her, she looked up and saw something that made her blood run cold – a massive white dragon, flying over Vroengard. Coming for her.

'_MORZAN!'_ she screamed.

Too late.


	48. Dark Defeat

Chapter Forty-Eight

Dark Defeat

They hadn't expected it. None of them had. Ever since the Great Betrayer and his followers had entered into open war with the other riders, the various elvish rulers had become increasingly disenchanted with both the riders and humans in general. And, when they learned the awful truth of the Great Betrayer's heritage, they had known that he would attack them sooner or later. By this time the falling-out between Vrael and Queen Islanzadí had already taken place, and the elves had more or less broken off communications with Ilirea altogether and retreated into Du Weldenvarden. If the humans were rebelling, then so be it. Vrael could deal with them.

Then had come the attack on Osilon. It had come swiftly and suddenly and taken them utterly by surprise. One moment Osilon was there, and the next it had gone – its buildings burnt to the ground and its inhabitants slaughtered. The few survivors had fled to Ellesméra and told Islanzadí what they had seen. The unthinkable had happened. A group of riders had turned on their elvish allies in the most savage way imaginable, and Vrael had failed, utterly failed, to protect his race from them. Islanzadí had sent emissaries to the Lord of the Shur'tugal in the hopes of winning back his support, but no reply had been sent. Ilirea had shut itself away, even from her, and there was no way of knowing if the message had even reached Vrael at all. But when months had passed with no sign of another attack, and then word reached Ellesméra that the Great Betrayer was dead and his followers as well, the elves had allowed themselves to relax. The war was over and Vrael had won.

A messenger was sent to Menulis at Gil'ead, to congratulate him on having finally brought the Betrayer to justice and to ask him to speak with Vrael on behalf of Islanzadí.

The messenger did not return, but the Ellesmérans continued to wait for some word to come back to them. It never did.

And then, one day, someone did come to Ellesméra. Glaedr, riderless and half-insane, one of his forelegs gone.

The elves took him in and tended to his wound, but could not get any sense out of him other than that Oromis was in some sort of trouble. Islanzadí had him taken to the Stone of Broken Eggs and made comfortable in a cave there. When he had had some time alone to recover, he could perhaps tell them what was going on.

Some days later, Islanzadí rose early one morning as her habit was and went to sit in her audience chamber and watch the sunrise. Although she and her fellow elves felt fairly secure, they had taken precautions – sentries were perched everywhere in the trees, watching the sky with keen eyes. Anyone who entered the valley, from either the ground or the sky, would quickly find themselves the target of a lot of arrows. Elves were very good archers.

Islanzadí seated herself on the carved chair which was reserved just for her, and breathed in the morning air. A still day. The sky overhead was blanketed with silvery-grey clouds, but it would probably be clear by noon. A large oak-tree grew not far from where she sat, standing incongruously in the middle of an otherwise smooth carpet of grass. Its branches thrust up through the open roof, leaves rustling softly in a light breeze, and the ground beneath it was littered with fallen acorns. A fine tree. Some people had suggested removing it, but Islanzadí had decided to leave it where it was. In spite of its origins, she rather liked it.

She sat back and stifled a yawn with one elegant hand. The last few months had been trying ones, but she was feeling much more optimistic now. As soon as she had confirmation that the danger was over, she would go to Ilirea and speak with Vrael, although by rights he should be obliged to come to her and apologise. His handling of the whole sorry affair had been grossly incompetent, and Islanzadí had a very strong inclination to remove him from office. Even though he nominally outranked her, she had a great deal of influence over his fellow elders, and if she asked them to they would almost certainly pressure the Lord of Riders into retiring. Menulis would be a good replacement, and no doubt the other elders would favour him, considering he had been the one to finally kill the traitor. And he had had the sense to make it a public death, so that the common people would be left in no doubt of what happened to rebels. Yes, he would be a much more fitting ruler. Islanzadí resolved to see to it as soon as the opportunity arose.

A faint rumbling sound came from overhead. She looked up to see that the horizon had darkened. Lightning flashed in the distance, and she heard the thunder and sighed. She hated storms. The violence of them always depressed her. With any luck, though, this one wouldn't reach her valley.

She looked at the oak-tree again, and frowned slightly. Something had changed. A little shiver ran down her spine, and she stared at the tree, trying to figure out what was bothering her. There was nothing there. Islanzadí muttered to herself and looked away.

And then, quite slowly and without any sense of shock, she realised that there was someone sitting on the chair next to hers. She looked at them blankly, somehow knowing that they had been there for some time.

'Who are _you?'_ she demanded, not particularly bothered, but annoyed that they had managed to creep up on her.

The someone else was another elf, and quite young. He wore a black robe with a hood trimmed with what looked like wolf-fur, and his hair was light-brown and flowed over his shoulders. He threw a slightly amused glance at her. 'Hello, My Lady,' he said. 'I didn't mean to disturb you, but it's such a nice morning, and this is a rather good spot to watch the sunrise, don't you think?'

Islanzadí frowned at him. 'How did you get in here? The guards shouldn't have let you in.'

'I persuaded them,' said the elf. 'My name's Taliesin, by the way, of Nädindel.'

Islanzadí sat up a little straighter. 'Did King Shardian send you?'

Taliesin nodded. 'He wanted to be sure that things were going well here. I arrived this morning and thought I should come straight to you.'

'I am pleased, Taliesin,' Islanzadí said, remembering her formalities. 'You carried your message well. Ellesméra is safe and secure; we have suffered no attacks. So far there has been no word from Vrael, but I have sent a messenger to Gil'ead to talk with Elder Menulis. Have your own people heard anything new about the war?'

'The latest news has it that the Great Betrayer is dead,' said Taliesin. 'Elder Menulis finally caught up with him and put him to death at Gil'ead. As for his followers, they have been scattered and most of them killed. The war is over.'

'We know all of that,' said Islanzadí. 'Elder Menulis sent us a message to that effect. But something has happened to Elder Oromis.'

'Oh?' said Taliesin. 'What do you know of this?'

'His dragon, Glaedr, came here a few days ago,' said Islanzadí. 'Wounded and without his rider. One of his forelegs… it was completely severed. He was in great pain, so much so that we could not get any word from him about Oromis.'

Taliesin looked thoughtful. 'Did he survive?'

'Yes,' said Islanzadí. 'He is recovering now. Hopefully when he is better he will be able to tell us more.'

'So everything else is well?' said Taliesin. 'Are you prepared for an attack if one comes?'

'We are,' said Islanzadí. 'It seems unlikely, but some of the Forsworn could still pose a threat. I have sentries posted in the trees.'

'And if an attack happens?' said Taliesin. 'Do you have the numbers to repel an invasion?'

'Our forces are sufficient,' said Islanzadí. 'I have two hundred warriors in the valley.'

'That's not many,' Taliesin observed.

'It is enough,' said Islanzadí.

Taliesin nodded. 'It sounds like you're well-prepared,' he said. 'But if I may, I have a suggestion to offer.'

'Speak,' said Islanzadí.

Taliesin stood up. 'You need some better guards,' he said, and punched her hard in the jaw.

Islanzadí fell backward off her chair, unconscious. Snickering, Taliesin took a length of rope from inside his robe and tied her arms behind her back. He easily lifted the Queen of the elves to her feet, and dragged her away into the little building behind the audience chamber. There he sealed the doors with magic and tied Islanzadí to a chair. Once she was secure, he dragged a table over to the nearest window and sat on it, cross-legged, watching the sky. The storm was already beginning to gather its power overhead.

Taliesin grinned to himself and took the glove off his right hand. He laid it on his own forehead. '_Flytja sjá gríma._'

The magic went to work. A few seconds later his chin started to prickle as his beard regrew, and his hair turned black and formed into its usual loose curls. When it was done, he glanced at the unconscious Islanzadí. '_Fel 'm boblogi ca 'n hwy ddial, gormeswr_,' he muttered. _''Ch amsera wedi darfod._ Your time's up, tyrant.'

Islanzadí's eyes opened slowly. She stirred and tried to lift her arms, then screamed when she realised she was tied up. 'Help! Help me!'

Galbatorix checked the window again. 'I wouldn't bother if I was you,' he said. 'Your guards can't hear you. They've been taken ill. A rather bad case of being dead.'

Islanzadí's eyes widened. '_You!_'

Galbatorix bowed. 'It's been too long, Queen Islanzadí. Thankyou for the information, by the way. I've just been passing it on to my friends. I'm sure they're finding it very useful.'

'Taliesin-?'

'Taliesin Taranisäii was my great-grandfather, actually. Noted for his skill in diplomacy. I, however, prefer the sort of diplomacy delivered on the end of one of these.' He drew White Violence.

Islanzadí started to struggle, wrenching at the ropes that bound her. 'Let me go, you foul half-breed! I will have you buried alive for this!'

Galbatorix laughed coldly. 'Will you now. How charming. Perhaps I should keep that in mind when I decide how to dispose of you.'

Islanzadí became still. 'You fool,' she snarled. 'Just how long do you think you can hide in here? Do you honestly believe you'll get out of here alive? You've just climbed into your own tomb.'

'Oh, I don't know about that,' said Galbatorix. He stood up on the tabletop, staring intently out the window. The sky outside had slowly turned the colour of slate, and a strong gale made the trees toss and groan, their leaves flying.

'What's happening out there?' Islanzadí demanded.

'The world is changing out there,' said Galbatorix. 'Right now, as we speak. Do you believe in ghosts, Islanzadí?'

'Your foolish human superstitions have no power over me,' said Islanzadí.

'A simple "no" would have sufficed,' Galbatorix said evenly. 'Well, there are ghosts. Perhaps we can't see them, but they're there. They're all around you, Islanzadí. They've been following you for a very long time. Angry ghosts. Do you know what they called me in Teirm?'

Islanzadí only stared at him.

'They called me "the Shadow That Walks",' said Galbatorix. 'A shadow is another word for a ghost, and that's what I am. Or what I carry. I'm the ghost of your past, Islanzadí, come back to remind you of what you've done. You know what I am, don't you?'

Islanzadí's eyes burned. 'Dark elf,' she hissed.

Galbatorix nodded. 'You should have seen it before, _'N Ddeheoul Choblyn_,' he said. 'It's all in me. When we first met, I didn't know. Now I do. I found the last of the dark elves, and they taught me their ways. Their magic, their language, their secrets. You, Islanzadí, were the one who destroyed them. You and the rest of your evil race. But now your crimes have caught up with you. I am the last dark elf. Fate chose me to punish you, and that is what I am doing. Your power over Alagaësia is ending.'

Islanzadí couldn't bear to meet his eyes any longer. She looked away. 'You're going to die, _hálfr-dreyri_,' she said in a low voice. 'Vrael will kill you for this.'

'Vrael? That old fool is hiding in Ilirea with the rest of the elders, too frightened to come out and fight me himself,' Galbatorix sneered. 'At least, two of the elders are hiding with him. The other two never made it back there. Menulis is dead. I killed him with my own hands. And Oromis has been inconvenienced in Gil'ead. Very soon Ilirea will be attacked, and when that happens, Vrael and the rest of the elders will die. Painfully. And you, Islanzadí, will not be able to stop it. Would you like to know why?'

'Because you're going to kill me,' said Islanzadí.

'You? You're just one person. Although killing you would indeed be very enjoyable. But I'm afraid you were misinformed. The Forsworn aren't gone; far from it. We're growing stronger all the time.' He sat down on the table and yawned elegantly, like a cat. 'I wish you could see it, Islanzadí. I wish we could both see it. Unfortunately, some of life's little pleasures have to be experienced vicariously. But I'll do my best to give you an outline of it. Du Weldenvarden has been invaded. Two days ago, Ilía Fëon was attacked by an army of humans and urgals, led by two of the Forsworn. None of the inhabitants survived. I heard that directly from my two friends. And today I came here to infiltrate Ellesméra before we attacked it. The storm is gathering. Shruikan is coming, and a few of the Forsworn are with him. They're leading an army of five hundred. Humans, urgals and kull. Alagaësia's downtrodden races have risen up against you, thanks to me. Unfortunately, not all of the Forsworn could be here to see Ellesméra's destruction. The rest of them are busy. I believe Sílthrim fell some time during last night. Nädindel is being attacked as we speak, and Kírtan… oh, I dealt with that one on the way here. I think you might recognise this.' He flicked something toward Islanzadí. It landed neatly on her lap, and she stared blankly at it.

A gold ring, crafted in the shape of a twisting vine entwined with a snake set with rubies and emeralds.

'Queen Caunwen's ring,' she breathed.

'She put up a good fight,' said Galbatorix. 'They all did. And then they died. I burned the bodies myself. But don't worry – I didn't forget to say the funeral rites first. Even dark elvish rites are better than none at all, wouldn't you say?' he got up suddenly and stepped down off the table, coming toward her. Islanzadí cringed away from him as he leant over her. His clothes smelt of smoke, and when she looked more closely at them she could see the faint crusting of dried blood still clinging to the fabric. Galbatorix took the ring from her lap and retreated. 'I'll keep this, if you don't mind. It's rather nice. Dwarf-made, I think.'

Islanzadí watched him as he slipped the ring onto his own finger. 'You monster,' she said. 'How could you do this?'

'Monster?' Galbatorix roared, his calm exterior suddenly vanishing. '_Monster?_' he jabbed a finger at Islanzadí. 'You're daring to call _me_ a monster? You?' he started to pace back and forth, his boots making no sound on the floor. 'The silver elves. The red dwarves. The unicorn herders. The sand-people. The Drei'totza. The Durgians. The dark elves. Where are they, Islanzadí? Where did they go?'

Islanzadí blanched. 'The mistakes of the past-,'

'Mistakes?' Galbatorix repeated. 'You call the destruction of a hundred races at your hands a _mistake?_ And they say _I'm_ insane. No, Islanzadí. You knew what you were doing. You all knew, and you used the riders to do it. You call me monster, but I know why you hate me. I'm the one that got away. The one you couldn't control. I'm doing to you what you did to us, and I'm doing it in the name of freedom. I will kill the elders and set Alagaësia free. The riders won't be controlled by you any more, or ever again. The time of the elves is over.'

Thunder broke in the sky outside, so loud it made the walls shake. It was followed by a blinding flash of light, and after that, Islanzadí heard crashing, roars and screaming.

Galbatorix glanced up at the window. 'It begins,' he said softly.

The wind howled, splattering the window with rain, and the storm gathered its power. Outside, battle-cries mingled with shouts and the roaring of dragons, and the crash of steel. Islanzadí closed her eyes and fought back a passionate sob.

A loud _thump_ rang through the room, and the door shook in its frame as something struck it from the other side. Galbatorix turned instantly, raising his sword. The door shook again and again, its hinges juddering and shedding dust and flakes of paint. He moved quietly to stand behind Islanzadí, touching White Violence's point to the back of her neck.

The door shattered into pieces, and someone came charging through it. Galbatorix tensed, but the intruder halted halfway and said; 'There you are, sir!'

Galbatorix lowered his sword. 'Orwyne. Thank gods, you had me worried for a moment there. Quick, help me with her.' He cut Islanzadí's bonds and dragged her to her feet, and Orwyne hurried to help him. She pinned the elf's arms behind her back and marched her out of the building, Galbatorix walking in front with his sword in his hand.

They emerged into a scene of chaos. Humans, elves and urgals were fighting each other among the trees, heedless of the storm that raged all around them. Overhead three dragons circled, launching fire at the elves on the ground. Magic, arrows and spears flew everywhere, and the ground was already littered with bodies.

Galbatorix halted by the base of the oak tree he had created so long ago. 'Hold her here,' he told Orwyne, and walked out onto the battlefield. Shruikan swooped down to land beside him, and Galbatorix patted the black dragon's shoulder and muttered a spell under his breath. A moment later he raised his sword. Lightning flashed over the blade's polished surface, and he shouted; '_ELVES OF ELLESMÉRA!_' His voice, magnified by magic, carried out over the valley, drowning out even the sounds of battle. The combatants heard him, and dozens of elves instantly rushed to attack him. But Galbatorix signalled to Orwyne to bring Islanzadí forward. He grabbed the elvish Queen by the back of the neck and threw her to the ground, jamming White Violence's point into the spot between her shoulderblades. _'I have your queen!' _he bellowed. _'If you come any closer, she dies!'_

Several elves halted their charge. Others, however, came on. Shruikan lowered his head and breathed a massive blast of black and silver fire at them, killing many and forcing the rest to retreat. Galbatorix hauled Islanzadí to her feet. 'Tell them to surrender,' he rasped in her ear. 'Tell them, or die with them.'

Islanzadí had no resistance left. 'Surrender!' she shouted. 'We surrender! Throw down your weapons! I command you!'

The battle had nearly stopped already, and now it ended altogether. One by one the elves threw their weapons down and were captured. Galbatorix's followers brought them to a spot at the base of the hill where their leader stood, and when they had all gathered he suddenly let go of Islanzadí and kicked her hard in the back, sending her staggering down the slope. Her people caught her and quickly gathered around her, protecting her with their bodies. But they had no chance to fight on. They were surrounded.

Galbatorix pointed White Violence at them. 'Elves of Ellesméra,' he said. 'Listen to me now. You have lost. Ellesméra has fallen, and your other settlements along with them. You have been punished for your crimes against the people of this country. As you wiped out the dark elves, the red dwarves, the werewolves and the shapeshifters, I have now done the same to you. I have you in my power, and you are facing the punishment you deserve: extinction.'

At the sound of this dread word, a terrible wailing arose from the elves. Many of them fell to their knees, others tried to fight or flee, but their voices mingled, and every voice was terrified.

Galbatorix watched them, his eyes as cold as his heart, though he could hear them clearly enough.

…_Please!_

…_Please, no! Not that, not-_

_Deyja, deyja, andlát!_

…_don't want to die, don't want to die…!_

'However,' he said, cutting across them, 'I won't do that to you. I am not an elf. You couldn't rob me of my heart, and my heart won't let me become like you. Therefore, I will spare you from the fate you brought on so many others. My friends and I will leave this place and never return, but on one condition: that you never emerge from Du Weldenvarden again. Stay here and live how you choose, and you will not be interfered with. But if you ever leave it, if you ever try and take back the power you lost, if you try and stop the rightful inhabitants of this land from living as they choose, then I will return. And if that happens, there will be no more mercy. I will kill every last one of you. Even the children. That is my promise to you.' He put White Violence back into its sheath and inclined his head toward them. '_Fel dydy 'n ddigon._'

He had said all he had come to say, and now he climbed into Shruikan's saddle and glanced at Orwyne. She gave the command to the assembled army to depart, and Shruikan took off, flying low over the elves and knocking several of them down with his dangling talons before he swooped up into the suddenly clearing sky and flew away over Du Weldenvarden with slow, leisurely beats of his white wings. Orwyne gave the order for the army on the ground to depart, which they did in a slightly disorganised fashion, forming up behind their general, Nar Kvarn himself, and marching out of Ellesméra, although some could not resist pausing to loot a few of the enemy corpses.

Galbatorix and Shruikan circled overhead to watch them go, and once they were well on their way they followed them. A few moments later they were joined in the air by Orwyne and Ana.

Galbatorix made mental contact with Orwyne. _'Everything go as planned?'_

'_Yes, sir. No significant losses on our side.'_

'_Perfect. Ana, did you get them?'_

Ana was laughing out loud. _'Oh gods, that was amazing. I had no idea joining you would be so much fun.'_

Galbatorix and Orwyne exchanged glances.

'"_Fun"?'_ said Calanon. _'Are you mad, human?'_

'_A little, maybe,'_ said Ana, unflustered. _'But, well, I've always hated elves and loved a good fight. And I'm going to be famous now, too. This is going to be written about in the history books, and everyone will know I was there. Brilliant.'_

'_This is nothing to be proud of, Ana,'_ Galbatorix said sharply. _'Now, did you do what I asked or not?'_

Ana nodded. _'I did it, right enough. But you'll be a little disappointed. There was only one left.'_

'_What? What happened to the rest of them?'_

'_Search me. But I went up to the Egg-Guardian's house, like you said, and broke the door down. I found the box hidden in a cupboard. It was locked, but I got it open, and there was one egg left inside. So I took it. Maybe old Einás hid the rest of them before she ran off or something. Anyway, I've got it in my saddlebag. It's a rather nice colour. Green.'_

'_Well done, Ana. We'll keep it safe. Can't risk letting the elves get another rider on their side. The only new riders will be our riders.'_

Orwyne frowned and watched the army marching below them. _'I just hope we don't end up wishing we hadn't spared them. Not that it wasn't the right thing to do, but you can't pretend they won't want revenge for this, sir.'_

'_There's no doubt about that,'_ Galbatorix agreed. _'But I really doubt we've got anything more to fear from them. They're not extinct, but they've been weakened very badly, and they know it. We'll keep watch on them. As soon as we see any sign that they're up to something…'_ He left the rest unsaid.

'_You're right, of course,'_ said Orwyne.

'_And we've got the strength,'_ Ana put in. _'We're riders. Not even elves can fight us and win. What's next, sir?'_

'_We meet up with the others at what's left of Kírtan and head back Southwards,' _said Galbatorix. _'From there I'm going to head for Vroengard to meet up with Morzan. With any luck his news will be as good as ours.'_


	49. In a Sea of Despair

Chapter Forty-Nine

In a Sea of Despair

Morzan woke up to a strange sound. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at nothing. Everything was blurry, and his head ached savagely. He was lying on a hard surface, and pain burned in every bone and joint, as if he had just suffered a savage beating.

He lay still, trying to will himself out of the confused haze covering his brain, while the sound that had roused him came again. He listened idly to it, and ice suddenly trickled into his brain when he realised what it was.

Screaming.

Morzan sat up, yelping when pain crackled through his spine. The screaming was coming from somewhere to his left, and he struggled to his feet and took a few shaky steps toward it. He walked straight into something hard and cold, and instinctively grabbed hold of it to stop himself falling over. He held onto it, blinking as his eyes finally refocused. He was in a small, gloomy space, but there was a light source directly in front of him – a torch, he realised. But he couldn't reach it, and nor could he go any further toward the person who was screaming.

He was in a cell.

Panicking, he reached out for Idün with his mind. She wasn't there.

Morzan felt as if something had just hit him in the stomach. 'Idün?' he yelled, his voice hoarse and cracked. 'Idün? Idün! Where are you?'

There was no answer. Morzan sat down sharply, his heart fluttering. 'No,' he whispered. 'No! Idün! _IDÜN!_'

The only reply were the screams, still coming from somewhere down the corridor.

Morzan started to shudder. He felt a hot wetness on his face, like blood, and stared blankly at the little spot of wetness that had suddenly appeared on the floor in front of him. Others joined it, and he covered his face and tried to fight back his sobs. In vain. There was a deep and horrible pain in his chest, as if he had been stabbed in the heart. He knew it was the place where Idün had been. She was dead. He'd lost her.

Morzan lurched to his feet and hurled himself at the barred door. 'NO!' he screamed, again and again. 'No, gods no! _IDÜN!_'

'Morzan!' a voice called.

Morzan barely heard it. He continued to ram himself against the bars, overwhelmed by a horror in his soul so profound that it smothered his senses. He was only vaguely aware of the screaming babble that came from his mouth, and the pain as he hit the door of his prison, again and again. Eventually his legs folded beneath him and he subsided onto the floor, sobbing brokenly.

'Morzan!'

The voice continued to call him, and he eventually looked up and saw that the prisoner in the cell opposite his had come to stand on the other side of her own door, holding onto the bars.

'Morzan,' she said again.

Morzan looked at her blankly. 'Tranah,' he rasped.

One side of Tranah's face was swollen, and a raw scar went from her forehead to her jaw. 'Are you hurt?' she asked.

Morzan looked at the ground. 'Idün's dead.'

'I know,' Tranah said softly. 'I saw her die. I'm sorry, Morzan.'

Morzan's fists clenched. He sat still for a moment, and then let out a horrible howl and started to bash his head against his cell door as hard as he could. Tranah cringed. She was about to say something, when another dismal scream echoed down the corridor.

Morzan suddenly became still. He blinked dazedly. 'What's… what's happening…?'

'We've been captured,' Tranah said in a dull voice. 'All of us. We were overconfident. There weren't only three riders here.'

Morzan shuddered. 'Brom's dead,' he whispered. 'I've killed Brom.'

'It wasn't your fault, Morzan. He attacked you first. It was him or you.'

Morzan started to cry. 'I want to go home,' he sobbed, his voice a child's.

'You can't,' said Tranah. 'We're not going to survive this. None of us are. Morzan, he's here. Vrael's here. He's the one who did this to my face. He's going to-,'

She was interrupted by a voice from down the corridor. '_Xanathus! Xanathus, ha'aii ran Ymazu xantho yanthan!_'

The words were in some language Morzan didn't recognise, and they came in a ghastly, wailing, agonised voice – a voice he recognised. Vander's voice.

Tranah wrenched at the bars of her prison. 'Leave him alone!' she roared. 'You cowards, stop it! You're killing him!'

Silence followed, disturbed by a faint sobbing and moaning and then the sound of a door slamming. Footsteps came down the corridor toward them, and Morzan shrank back, shuffling toward the corner of his cell with the instinctive fear of a trapped animal. A shadow fell across the floor, and he looked up as the door opened and a familiar figure came through it.

Vrael.

Before Morzan knew what he was doing, he had leapt to his feet and charged straight at his enemy, his mouth opening to emit a crazed bellow of hatred. Vrael raised a hand, and Morzan was hurled backward. He hit the wall of his cell and slid down it onto the floor. The pair of guards who had entered with Vrael hauled him to his feet, twisting his arms behind his back, and held him still.

Vrael came forward, his white hair and clothes making him look almost ghostly in the gloom. Morzan's strength failed him, and he stood very still, staring at his erstwhile master with terror in his eyes.

Vrael nearly towered over him. His old, fine-boned face was cold and still, his pale eyes expressionless. Morzan could hear him breathing; quick, sharp bursts through his nostrils – the only sign of emotion he showed. Vrael stood unmoving for a few moments, and then hit Morzan in the face. 'You filth,' he said in a low voice. 'You _scum.'_

Morzan spat at him, and Vrael hit him again, so hard that stars exploded in his vision for a moment.

'Evil!' the elf roared. 'You pathetic piece of humanity, you murdering oathbreaker, you half-breed's slave!'

But Morzan was not defeated. He braced himself against the wall and threw his full weight forward, so hard he broke free of the guards' hold on him. He barrelled straight into Vrael, knocking him over, and began to punch him in the face and throat, as hard as he could. The guards grabbed him from behind, but he shook them off as if they were nothing and wrapped his big hands around Vrael's neck, squeezing with all his might. Vrael, his mouth bleeding from a couple of broken teeth, managed to free his right hand. Seconds later his magic struck into Morzan, and the bulky rider cried out and went limp. The guards dragged him out of the way and helped Vrael to his feet as more guards hurried in. Vrael healed his injuries with magic and kicked the helpless Morzan hard in the stomach. Morzan lay, unable to move, and saw Vrael staring down at him.

'You will be punished for your crimes, oath-breaker,' the old elf breathed. 'The time for mercy is over.' He turned toward the door, beckoning to someone standing in the corridor outside. 'Do what you will with him,' he said. 'But do not kill him.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

Then Vrael was gone, and the guards were pulling Morzan upright. A voice from the doorway said; 'Not here. This way.'

Morzan hung from the guards' grip, unable to resist any further. He saw Tranah watching him from her cell as they carried him away, her face pale, making the livid red scar all the more ugly and obvious. 'Courage,' she called after him, and then he couldn't see her any more.

The guards took him down the corridor, past dozens of other cells. He thought he caught a brief glimpse of someone who might have been Vander lying on the floor of one of them, and then they had left the cell block and were going down a flight of stairs. He was half-carried through a dark corridor that smelt of mould and rotting fish, and into a dimly-lit room where a brazier full of glowing coals cast unpleasant shadows onto the walls.

'Chain him there,' the voice commanded.

The guards took him to the end of the room and lifted his arms over his head, snapping iron manacles onto his wrists, neck and ankles. He hung there, his feet just touching the floor, utterly helpless.

'Leave now,' the voice said to the guards, and they departed.

Morzan fought desperately against the paralysing magic, his brain afire with terror, but all he could do was stay where he was and watch someone coming toward him.

'I don't think we need the spell any more,' said the voice, and a tingling spread through Morzan's body as the paralysis was dispelled. As soon as he had command of his limbs again, he started to struggle against his manacles.

'Pointless,' said the voice. It muttered a word, and some torches on the walls lit up.

Morzan found himself faced by a tall elf clad in brown, one he vaguely recognised from his days as a student in Vroengard so long ago.

The elf was looking at him with a strange look in his eyes, almost a hungry look. 'Morzan Drasborn,' he breathed. 'Do you remember me?'

Morzan said nothing.

'I am Sadron,' said the elf. 'One of the few uncorrupted riders left in Alagaësia.'

Morzan found his voice. 'Sod off, elf.'

Sadron turned away. He seemed to be trying to control himself. 'You killed my family at Osilon,' he said quietly. 'My mother. My father. My sisters.'

'Tough break, elf,' Morzan sneered. 'What d'you want me to do, kiss it better?'

Sadron span around and punched him in the stomach. Morzan jerked in his chains, wheezing.

'You soulless _monster!_' the elf screamed. 'How could you? How could you-?'

'They was elves,' Morzan snarled back. 'They deserved everything they got.'

Sadron hit him again. 'Benion!' he yelled. 'Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! My family! My father! My mother! My sisters!' he continued to rain blows down on Morzan, repeating the names over and over again with every single one. '_Benion! Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel!_ Say their names, gods damn you! Benion! Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! You killed them! You killed them! _You killed them!_'

When he finally subsided, breathing harshly from the effort, Morzan's nose was broken and both his eyes were blackened and swelling. He coughed and groaned, but still had enough spirit left to say; 'You… bloody… coward.'

Sadron's eyes were burning. 'You're going to die, human,' he said. 'Not the traitor's death. I will find another way. A worse way. But you won't die until you've suffered. Lord Vrael was generous to me. He gave me permission to do what I liked with you.' He turned and walked toward the brazier, where a number of metal torture implements had been placed among the coals. He muttered a protecting spell over his hand and selected one, gripping the wooden handle so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Morzan's eyes widened, and he started to twist desperately, pulling on the manacles with all his might. Sadron sneered and tore the front of his shirt open, exposing his chest. He lowered the metal rod until the red-hot, glowing tip was an inch away from touching Morzan's skin. 'I want to hear you scream,' he whispered.

Morzan closed his eyes. _Idün._

And after that there was only pain.

Vrael walked alone through the dining hall in the upper levels of Vroengard's fortress, his sword, _Snœr'ónd_, on his back. The servants he passed bowed low to him, murmuring respectful 'my Lord's, but he barely looked at them. He hated this place. Hated being surrounded by humans all the time, hated being away from the safety of Ilirea's walls. But it was necessary, he knew. The information that had reached Ilirea over the last few months had been sketchy and confused, at best. The elders had continuously sent riders out to the major cities, to govern and defend them, while others searched the countryside for the Forsworn. Much of the time it was impossible to be certain of where any one rider was or whether he or she was alive – messenger birds frequently failed to reach their destinations, and anything sent by courier would arrive far too late to be of any use. Rider after rider had simply disappeared without trace, with no word of what had happened to them. Some were later found to have joined the Forsworn. Others were never seen again. And some did come back to Ilirea and their master. The Great Betrayer made a point of sending the remains of everyone he killed back home to be interred, perhaps out of some twisted sense of honour but more likely as a form of intimidation to his enemies.

When Menulis finally persuaded Vrael to let him hunt for the traitors himself, Vrael and his fellows had been optimistic that he would succeed. And then, some time later, they had received a message from him which justified their optimism. A letter detailing the ignominious and very public death of the Great Betrayer, and a box containing his preserved and withered traitor's heart.

Vrael had taken no joy from the news of his death, and had had the heart placed inside a tomb in the catacombs under the city, which had been carved with the traitor's name and likeness during the years of his training, as tradition dictated. No body would ever rest there, and the ritual sealing of the tomb was not carried out.

But still, the ghost of the Great Betrayer would not stop haunting Vrael. Even though he knew he was dead, he felt no sense of triumph or relief, and nor did he feel safe.

And the sense of foreboding had not gone away, and in the end it had been justified. Vrael had sent a rider, Carina, to Gil'ead to report to Menulis. She had not returned. And ominous news had reached Ilirea – news of an uprising by its inhabitants against the castle, led by some unknown rebel. And now the city had suddenly broken off relations with all its neighbours, and nobody was leaving or returning from it. And when Menulis failed to reply to any of the messages sent to him, and other accounts reported that the common people were beginning to openly rebel in the Great Betrayer's name, Vrael had decided that it was time to take control of the situation. Gil'ead needed to be made an example of, whether Menulis was still there or not, which now seemed unlikely. Elder Oromis had offered to lead an attack on the city, with a number of lesser riders who had remained in Ilirea, and Vrael had recruited an army of ordinary troops from among the elves and dwarves currently in the city – all human occupants having been forced out some time ago.

After that, everything fell into chaos. News started to come to Ilirea at last, and it was nothing short of catastrophic. The Great Betrayer, alive and well, the Forsworn not just still extant but growing in numbers, Elder Menulis, dead at the Great Betrayer's own hands, Elder Oromis either dead or a captive, along with several other riders, the wild dragons vanished, the elves and the dwarves no longer allied with the riders, the humans rebelling against their former masters… and all the while came the list of the Great Betrayer's victories. Teirm, Gil'ead and Dras-Leona, the three largest cities in the country, were all now under his control, and the few loyal riders who remained were simply too frightened of him to try and fight back. Some came to Ilirea for protection, and promptly refused to leave it. The rest had gone into hiding.

All this happened very quickly – so quickly that Vrael felt as if he did nothing but listen to the bad news as it rolled in, so quickly that by the time he formulated a plan of retaliation, it was already too late for it to be carried out. In the end, when Vroengard was the only major stronghold that was not definitely under rebel control, Vrael had decided to take the only course of action that was realistically left open to him. He gathered together every rider left in Ilirea and led them to Vroengard. There he found that the Forsworn had not yet attacked it, and hastily set about making the place secure. The rest of Alagaësia was a lost cause, but he would hold onto Vroengard at all costs. He quickly sent messenger birds to the various elvish rulers in Du Weldenvarden, informing them that they should gather their people and go to Ilirea as quickly as possible. From there, the Elders Yansan and Saraswati would lead them to Vroengard, where they would take ship and leave the country forever. Alagaësia had been a good home to the elves for a long time, but it was plain that it had ceased to be so. It was time for them to move on.

And then three of the Forsworn had suddenly come to Vroengard, evidently sent to capture it.

It had given Vrael an immense amount of satisfaction to take them captive, especially when he realised who one of them was. Morzan, the first of the Forsworn, the Great Betrayer's right-hand man and most loyal follower. An extremely valuable captive.

Vrael had been sorely tempted to simply kill the three of them, especially since every one of his fellow riders there had been urging them to do it, but he had reluctantly seen that they were more valuable to him alive. Alive, they could be used as bait. Perhaps they would bring the Great Betrayer himself to Vroengard. After all, he had already proven that he was willing to risk his own neck for the sake of one of his followers, and Morzan was not just his follower but one of his closest friends. He would certainly be willing to do a great deal to save him. If he did indeed have Elder Oromis, then they could trade captives. Vrael had known Oromis since childhood, and was unwilling to leave the country without at least being certain that he was dead.

But though the prisoners had to be kept alive, that did not mean they could not be made to suffer for what they had done. Vrael disliked it, but he didn't feel even a hint of pity for them. They deserved worse. They deserved far worse.

They were not the only ones who were suffering. Vrael turned a corner and entered the fortress' sickbay. There were several people in there, mostly casualties from the attack, being attended to by a group of healers. When they saw Vrael come in, two of the healers came to meet him.

'My Lord, I'm so glad you're here. This man here needs magic; there's nothing I can do for him.'

'Where is the boy?' Vrael asked curtly.

'In the private room over there, my Lord. But my Lord, there are people here who need-,'

Vrael brushed past them and made for the door to the private sickbay, which was reserved for people with contagious diseases, or those of great importance, who had the privilege of extra privacy. The Lord of the riders hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door.

The room beyond was simply furnished, its walls painted white. A large window of expensive glass panes was set into the wall by the bed, overlooking the sea.

Brom lay in the bed, utterly still, staring at the ceiling. He gave absolutely no reaction when Vrael entered. His eyes were dead and empty; two blue voids set into his face, and his lips moved as he mumbled to himself. Just one word, over and over again. _'Saphira. Saphira. Saphira. Saphira.'_

Vrael stood over him. 'Brom,' he said softly.

Brom blinked at the sound of his name, and for a few brief moments something approaching awareness showed in his face. 'Brom,' he said, as if the word meant nothing at all.

Vrael sighed. 'Brom, can you hear me?' he said. 'Do you know who I am?'

Brom turned his head to stare vacantly at him. 'Do you know where she is?' he asked. 'I can't find her. I can't find her.'

'She's out there,' said Vrael, pointing at the window. 'Brom, listen… you have to listen. You can't hide. You can't let yourself die. You can't hide it away. You have to let yourself feel it. Otherwise, you'll never recover.'

'I can't find her,' Brom said again, showing no sign that he had heard or understood.

'She's gone, Brom,' said Vrael. 'She's dead. Morzan killed her.'

Brom's limp hands curled into fists. _'Morzan.'_

'Yes. We have him, Brom. We got him. He's in the dungeons. He's being punished for what he did to you.'

Brom started to laugh. 'Morzan's my friend,' he giggled. 'My best friend. He used to call me "mate". Brothers, him and me. Like brothers. She said.'

'He stopped being your friend when he sold his soul to the half-breed,' said Vrael. 'And he stopped being a rider then as well. But you, Brom… you'll always be one of us. No matter what happens. Even without Saphira.'

Brom's crazed grin faded. 'Saphira…'

'She should not have died,' said Vrael. 'You should not have done what you did. Why wasn't Saphira armoured? I ordered you to find some for her.'

'They wouldn't let me,' Brom whispered. 'I went to the armoury and they wouldn't let me in. Because I was human. Oh gods…' he shuddered. 'Where is she, sir? Why can't I hear her any more? Why…?'

Vrael shook his head. 'Be calm, Brom. Rest. You will recover, I promise. And we'll take you away with us. To a better place. You deserve it for all you've done, human or no.'

Brom did not reply. He stared at the ceiling again, and at the sparkling blue of the sea outside the window, and said again, 'Saphira…'

Vrael saw no point in staying any longer. He quietly turned and left, his heart aching. _'Such misery in the world,'_ Nöst remarked.

'_Yes,'_ was all Vrael said in reply.

Brom dreamed that night. Or perhaps it was not a dream, but a vision. He couldn't tell. He only saw one thing. Saphira. The blue dragon hovered in front of him, smiling, her eyes warm. _I'm here, Brom,_ she said. _Come! Come to me, come, I'm waiting for you._

Brom walked toward her, hands outstretched. _Saphira! Where are you?_

_I'm here, Brom. Just here._

He came on, but no matter how far he walked she was always just ahead of him, calling him onward, laughing at him. _I'm here, Brom. Here. Here!_

_Can't you come to me?_ he asked. _Come here, Saphira!_

_No, no, no,_ she said. _You have to come to me, Brom. Come, come, come._

And so he came on. Things got in his way, but he shoved past them, sometimes using his magic to make them move aside. And still Saphira hovered just ahead of him, tauntingly close but always out of reach.

The cold woke him up. He opened his eyes and stared at the darkness, feeling a pang of fear when he realised that he didn't know where he was. He looked around, his head moving with a quick, jerking motion. There was a silvery moon somewhere above. He could see it shining on the surface of the water, and he squinted at it, not understanding what he was seeing.

_Brom,_ a voice whispered in his head.

He turned sharply, but saw nothing, and finally realised where he was. He was standing in the open air, at the edge of a cliff outside the walls of Vroengard's fortress, the sea breezes ruffling his hair. And his heart ached unbearably.

'Saphira?' he called. 'Saphira! Where are you?'

_Brom,_ the voice whispered again.

'Saphira! Where are you, Saphira? Can you hear me? I can't see you! Please, please don't hide. Come back!'

_I'm here, Brom. Look there. Look!_

He stared out over the sea, and his heart leapt. She was there, right there, hovering over the waves, staring back at him sadly. _Come to me, Brom,_ her voice whispered softly. _I miss you. _

Brom smiled. The pain in his heart faded away, and he laughed aloud for joy. 'Saphira! There you are! I missed you so much-,'

_And I you. Please come, Brom. Come…_

'Oh, I'm coming,' Brom laughed. 'I'm coming.' He turned and walked back over the clifftop. When he judged he was far back enough, he turned back and ran as fast as he could, toward the edge of the cliff. He reached the very end, where the ground dropped away into the sea, and leapt into the void, his wide-open eyes staring fixedly at the wavering image of the blue dragon.

Then he fell.


	50. Forebodings

Chapter Fifty

Forebodings

Tranah was crying when they brought Morzan back to his cell. The big rider heard her through the haze of pain clouding his brain, and for a moment he made a feeble attempt to reach toward her. But it only lasted for a second before he slumped back down again, and let the guards take him back into his cell, where they dumped him on the floor and locked him in.

For a long time he lay on his back, listening to his own ragged breathing and occasional groans, drifting in and out of consciousness. But no matter if he woke or drifted in darkness, the pain went with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could still hear Sadron's voice. _Benion! Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! Benion! Helinniel! Eruanna! Anariel! Say their names, say their names, say their names, say…_

'_Idün…_' he whispered.

Awareness of a kind returned to him, and he rolled over and dragged himself into a corner, where he curled up, shuddering and trying to pull the ragged remains of his tunic back over his chest. The pain that provoked was so intense that he retched, and he forced himself to sit still, frightened to move again. His entire chest burned, and a line of pain traced its way from his ear to his jaw, making the eye on that side water uncontrollably. Somehow, though, it did not distress him as much as it should have. The part of his mind that housed his personality had all but shut itself down, and he barely remembered anything. All he was aware of just then was an overwhelming tiredness; a longing to go to sleep and escape from the pain, and from this place. But he could not sleep, could not escape, could not be free, and he stayed where he was, whispering Idün's name, again and again.

Eventually he did sleep – a shallow, pain-filled doze which tormented him with dreams of Idün, lying somewhere in the rain, her yellow eyes fixed on the sky. He could hear her mental voice, talking to itself. _Morzan. Morzan. Please gods, forgive me. Morzan…_

He woke up with a horrible start, gagging at a sudden pain in his throat, as if he were choking on something. He coughed and moaned, and subsided again, panting. When he had calmed down a little, he took stock of his surroundings. He was in his cell, in the corner, and the torches were still burning. Had a new day come? Had he slept, or fainted? He didn't know. He was hungry and thirsty, and his injuries ached and throbbed mercilessly, as if a dozen red-hot pokers were sticking into him. He pulled the ragged remains of his shirt aside and stared dully at his chest, still not quite able to grasp what had been done to it.

At least a dozen burns were spread over his chest, many of them so severe that the flesh had actually turned black and charred from the touch of the hot metal. Watery blood had soaked into his shirt and crusted on his skin, and the stench of burnt flesh, skin and hair filled his nostrils, making him gag again. He turned away, dull shock thudding into his stomach. It was real. It was all real. Idün was dead and he was a prisoner, doomed to be slowly tortured to death.

But for some reason, this thought filled him not with despair, but with rage. He braced his hands against the wall behind him and slowly got to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain this caused. Once he had found his balance, he lurched toward his cell door, steadying himself by gripping the bars.

'Tranah!' he hissed. 'Tranah, are you there?'

After a few seconds of silence, her voice echoed back from the darkened confines of her cell. '…Morzan?'

For some reason, the sound of it chilled him. 'S'me, Tran,' he said. 'You… you all right?'

He saw movement from the other cell, and a dark shape appeared, moving slowly toward the door. Agonisingly slowly. It reached the bars, and Tranah's face appeared, just above the floor. She had dragged herself there, he realised.

'You all right?' Morzan said again.

Tranah's face was pale beneath the bruising. 'My legs… my legs are broken,' she said in a low voice. 'They… visited me… while you were… away.'

'What about Vander?' said Morzan.

Tranah shook her head. 'I don't – don't know. Morzan, did…? Are you…?'

'I'll be all right,' said Morzan. 'Tran, are they gonna kill us?'

'I don't know,' said Tranah. She shuddered and sobbed. 'It's all gone to hell,' she said, her voice cracked and shaky, totally unlike what it had been before. 'All of it. They're desperate. Vrael doesn't care any more. About what happens. It's all just… revenge now. For no reason.'

'I killed that elf's family,' Morzan said in a faraway voice. 'At Osilon. He told me. Vrael let him do this. For revenge. He kept on saying their names… over an' over again… like a prayer or a spell.'

'I don't regret it,' said Tranah. 'And I never… never will. It was right. What we did. They can… kill me, but they can't… take that away from me. Not ever.'

'They never gonna make me go back,' said Morzan, his words suddenly feeling clumsy and alien in his mouth. 'He gonna rescue us, Tran. Gonna get us out of here. He'll kill Vrael.'

'It's our only hope,' said Tranah.

Morzan closed his eyes. 'Please come, sir,' he murmured. 'You gotta come.'

Galbatorix and the rest of the Forsworn were reunited at Kírtan, as planned. They had left the majority of the buildings in the settlement untouched, and while the combined armies made camp in and around them their leaders packed into the late Queen's banqueting hall and enjoyed an impromptu celebration.

The mood among the Forsworn was triumphant, and justifiably so. Every single one of the attacks had gone almost exactly to plan. There had been no significant losses on their side, and the elves had been thoroughly and decisively defeated. With the survivors, including Islanzadí, humiliated and left in no doubt of their new position, the race that had once been Alagaësia's most powerful had been neutralised.

They ate, drank and talked, sharing stories of the conquest with each other and with Durza, Nar Kvarn and the various human generals who joined them. The atmosphere was cheerfully raucous, with plenty of laughter and jokes, and even the ever-expressionless Durza finally deigned to share a few tales with his comrades.

Only Galbatorix failed to enter into the spirit of things. He sat at the head of the table, unsmiling and brooding, and gave short replies to anything that was said to him. He let the celebration wash over him, and ate very little. In the end, he quietly left the table in the middle of the feast and slipped out of the building, unnoticed.

The night air outside was cool and still, smelling of leafmould and woodsmoke. Galbatorix walked a short distance away from the banqueting hall and stood alone, watching the moon rise. He could hear the voices of his friends behind him, and, beyond that, the sound of the camp. There were plenty of other celebrations happening in Kírtan that night, but not a single elf in Alagaësia would be feeling at all celebratory. Galbatorix thought of this, and quickly realised that he didn't care. When he had killed other riders it had often given him some pangs of guilt, but now, when he had all but destroyed an entire race, he felt nothing at all – neither guilt nor satisfaction. All he felt was an odd sense of… peace, as if he had finally done something he had been trying to do all his life.

He heard someone coming, and turned to see Roland limping toward him.

He turned away to look at the moon again, and let the old rider come to stand beside him.

'Not in the mood for feasting?'

Galbatorix silently shook his head.

'It's all right, you know,' said Roland. 'To celebrate, I mean. Quite honestly, you've earned it. We all have.'

'And what are we celebrating, Roland?' said Galbatorix. 'The fact that we're all alive, or the fact that we won?'

'Both, of course,' Roland said immediately. 'Yes, war's an ugly business, there's no denying that. But we went into this with our eyes open, and we all knew what it meant. Surely you know that.'

Galbatorix sighed and fiddled with his beard. 'I'm not having second thoughts, Roland. You're right. We did what we had to do. But the war's not over yet. Far from it.'

'So?' said Roland. 'That's no reason to be gloomy, lad. We're going to win. We were right when we speculated that the elders wouldn't know what to do. They've been outled, outmanoeuvred and outfought, and they must know it by now. And with Islanzadí out of the way, the dragons gone and the dwarves in retreat, they've no significant allies left.'

'Yes. I know. And I know I should feel safe, but I don't. I feel… I have a bad feeling.'

Roland chuckled. 'Always the pessimist, eh, sir? I wouldn't worry if I were you. A little paranoia is only natural, especially after what we've been through.'

'It's not paranoia,' Galbatorix said, with unexpected sharpness. 'It's something else. A foreboding.'

'Well, if it's any comfort, I've no doubts of my own,' said Roland. 'You've never led us astray before, and I don't believe you ever shall. I have complete faith in you.'

'I wish you didn't,' said Galbatorix. 'I'm not a god, Roland.'

'No, but you are a leader, and a far greater one than this country has known in a very long time,' said Roland.

Galbatorix laughed softly. 'No I'm not.'

'Oh, but you are!' said Roland. 'You cannot be serious, sir. Look at everything you've done. This land has changed more in the last few years than it has in the last hundred years, and it's all thanks to you. Everything that's happened has been because of one person alone, and that person was you. Yes, we've helped you to do it, but without you we would never have come into existence. It was you who rebelled, you who survived, you who dared to fight back against an order that intimidated other men to the point that not one single rebellion had ever lasted longer than a few months, if they even began at all. It was you, sir, and you alone who showed us the way. I have spent more than eighty years of my life, actively working for a group that I knew full well was responsible for the death of my grandfather and the destruction of my faith, and I would most likely still be doing so if it had not been for you. You set me free. You set us all free. You showed us that we had the strength in us to fight back against the wrongs we saw in the world, and that is why we follow you and will continue to do so until death.' He spoke quietly and passionately, in a very different voice than his normal one, and, much to Galbatorix's surprise, the absolute conviction in his words made a lump form in his throat.

'Thankyou, Roland,' he said gruffly. 'I mean… I never thought I would live to see something like this. When I first set out to fight back, I was alone, and I never imagined that anyone else would want to join me. Ordinary humans, maybe, but not other riders, and what would be the point of mortal humans fighting riders? I didn't think I had any chance. All I wanted to do was find some way of getting to Vrael, so I could kill him. I just wanted the chance to fight him again. I didn't care if I died doing it. In fact, I almost hoped that I would. When things were bad, I'd distract myself by imagining what it would be like. I had it all planned, in my head – what it would be like when I finally got to him. We'd fight each other in Ilirea, in the elders' chamber where he sentenced me to death. No magic, just our swords. I'd let him drive me back for a while, let him think he was winning, and then when he raised his sword to kill me, I'd rush him, stab him right through the heart and watch him die there on the floor.'

'And how did the fantasy end?' said Roland.

Galbatorix smiled sadly. 'Then the guards would rush in and catch me. But I wouldn't care. I saw it in my head. I just laughed while they dragged me off to the gallows. Because it didn't matter what they did to me now.'

'Strange that your plan included your own death,' Roland observed.

Galbatorix shrugged. 'Like I said; I didn't care. I wanted two things: revenge, and death. But in that order.'

'And is that still how you feel?'

'Well, after that I found Shruikan, and then Morzan joined me, and I started to see things differently. Realised I could start a real rebellion instead of just trying to fight alone. I know I'm not quite right in the head sometimes…'

'You always seemed perfectly stable to me, sir,' said Roland. 'I am aware that you have nightmares from time to time, but there's nothing unusual about that, especially after what you've been through. I wouldn't pay any heed to those lies about your sanity. They're merely propaganda.' He sighed and shook his head. 'And, indeed, what _sane_ man could possibly want to challenge Vrael? Put it out of your head, sir. You are the leader this country needs, and has needed for many a long year.'

'And if I lead you in the wrong direction?' said Galbatorix. 'What then?'

Roland hesitated. 'I do not believe that will ever happen, sir. Truly. There is no need to worry about things like that; the odds are that they won't ever be a problem.' He glanced over his shoulder at the banqueting hall. 'We should probably go back to the others. Eat, drink and be merry, for who knows what tomorrow will bring, as the old saying goes.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'You go. I'm going to go and get some rest.'

'Very well. But I'd advise that you stay close.'

'I'll sleep by Shruikan,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'See you in the morning.'

'Good night, sir,' said Roland. 'And sleep well.'

But Galbatorix had already melted away into the night. He passed through the camp, unseen and unheard. It made him smile a little when he saw people stare straight at him without seeing him. _I am the Shadow that Walks,_ he thought.

He walked on toward the edge of the camp and out into the forest, toward the clearing where the dragons had settled down for the night, muttering his old catchphrases to himself. 'I am the shadow that comes in the night, I am the fear that lurks in your heart, I am the one with the hole in his heart, I am the King who rules over the dead, I am the Great Betrayer.'

Shruikan had sensed him coming. The black dragon suddenly reared out of the darkness, his golden eyes shining in the moonlight. _'Glad you could join me, Shadow that Walks.'_

Galbatorix halted. _'You heard me?'_

Shruikan snorted. _'Of course. You and your stupid little titles.'_

'_You've got a title as well, Storm Dragon,'_ Galbatorix pointed out mildly.

'_One other people gave me without asking,'_ said Shruikan. _'And I don't use it. One name is more than enough for anyone.'_

'_Yes, I suppose you're right,'_ said Galbatorix, as he untied the hammock he'd left fastened to Shruikan's saddle. _'We humans are a bit strange like that. Would you like me to take the saddle off?'_

'_Leave it,'_ said Shruikan. _'I don't really feel it. Are you going to sleep now?'_

'_Yes, I'm just going to hang up my hammock over there, if that's all right by you.'_

'_You're feeling unhappy again,'_ said Shruikan. _'Aren't you?'_

'_Yes. It's probably just tiredness…'_

'_What is it? Are you missing Skade again?'_

Galbatorix paused in the act of fastening the hammock to a handy tree. _'Yes. Always. But it's not just that. I feel… uneasy. Like there's something hanging over me.'_

'_Ignore it,'_ said Shruikan. _'You can't be afraid of something that isn't real. And if it _is_ real, then you still shouldn't be afraid of it, because you can fight it.'_

Galbatorix finished securing the hammock. He unfastened his swordbelt and put White Violence on the ground in its sheath, then sat on the hammock and took off his boots, setting them neatly side-by-side beneath him. _'You're right, Shruikan,'_ he said. _'I just need to calm down. I've had too much on my mind.'_

'_Rest, then,'_ Shruikan said, his rough voice almost gentle. _'I'll keep watch.'_

Galbatorix stripped off his robe and folded it under his head as a crude pillow, and lay back with White Violence lying across his chest, gripping the hilt with one hand. _'Good night, Shruikan.' _He sighed deeply and let himself relax, and as the tension slowly left his body he realised just how keyed-up he had been. Roland was right; he'd been overdoing it. And there was still so much to do…

Eventually, he slept.

And dreamed.

He dreamed of Vrael. The old elf was standing in the elders' chamber, exactly as he had been the last time Galbatorix had seen him, his pale eyes like two chips of ice as he stared at him with awful condemnation. _How dare you?_ he whispered. _How dare you?_

White Violence was in Galbatorix's hand, and he screamed and charged at Vrael with all his might. The white blade hit him in the face, and he instantly died, his body gushing blood as it fell to the floor.

Galbatorix stood over him, sword in hand, and laughed. _I've done it,_ he thought. _I've done it. He's dead. He's dead. I did it, Laela, I did it! _

_Galbatorix?_

He looked up and saw her there, standing beyond Vrael's corpse and watching him. He walked toward her, his hand outstretched. _Laela!_ he called. _Laela!_

Laela did not move. But the instant his hand touched her she shied away from him, screaming in pain. _NO! Don't!_

_Laela, I-_ he looked at his hands, and suddenly realised they were covered in blood. _I didn't mean to-_

Laela's face filled his whole vision, tears running down her muzzle. _Galbatorix, what have you done?_ she whispered.

_Laela-_

_I'm sorry,_ she said. _I have to go. Don't be afraid._

Then she was gone, and the space all around him was dark. _Laela! Laela, come back!_ He ran through the darkness, looking for her, but he couldn't see where he was going.

But then Shruikan was there, dragging him back. _Don't be a fool,_ he said. _She's gone._

Roland appeared, pointing at him. _The boy is insane,_ he said. _See him? _

_He ran back,_ said Shruikan. _Can you hear him?_

And Galbatorix heard. He heard it all at once, from everywhere. Screaming. It filled his ears, high and horrible and animal, and he tried to blot it out but could not. _It's there!_ he cried. _It's there! I can't see it!_

_You did it,_ Vrael's voice whispered. _The bones say you did it. Wash the blood away, boy. I'm waiting._

The screams grew louder, and he could smell them as well as hear them – a foul, burning stench. And, somewhere among it, he could hear the faint snatches of a voice. _HELP ME! HELP!_

_I come,_ he said.

The day after the torture, Morzan woke up cold and shivering. He sat up, and his burns instantly sent pain thudding into him. He sat still, shuddering, not daring to move again. The injured side of his face had stiffened, and it hurt to blink. He kept the eye on that side half-closed, and peered around at his cell, hoping someone had brought him some food and water while he was asleep. Sure enough, there was a small jug sitting by the door. He swung his legs off the bench provided and walked the three paces it took to get to it as slowly and carefully as he could, wincing with every step. Bending over to pick up the jug proved too painful, so he sat down next to it and picked it up. It was full of water, and he eagerly lifted it to his lips. The instant the water touched his tongue, he gagged and spat it out. He stared blankly into the jug, and groaned. Sea water. They'd brought him sea water.

The petty cruelty of it nearly made him want to cry. He put the jug down and stared over at Tranah's cell. He couldn't see her, but he thought he could hear her breathing. Other than that, and the sound of the rain falling outside, the dungeon was quiet. Were they going to hurt him again, or would they just leave him to die from hunger and thirst?

He examined his burns again. If anything, they looked even worse than they had the day before. They'd partially scabbed over during the night, but one or two of them had cracked open when he'd inadvertently disturbed them, and were leaking a watery fluid. He had been taught about wounds during his training, and he knew that the chances of them becoming infected were very high. And even if that didn't happen, large patches of flesh would almost certainly die and slough away, making the healing slower. If he recovered, he would be badly scarred for the rest of his life. But the scars on his body would never torment him as much as the scar on his heart.

Morzan closed his eyes. Maybe they'd kill him. He didn't particularly care. Idün was dead. Without her, his life was no longer worth living. But he didn't want to die by execution or starvation. He wanted to die on his feet, with his sword in his hand. He wanted to die knowing his enemies had been defeated.

He gritted his teeth. They hadn't beaten him yet, and nor had they broken his spirit. He would not give up. He would fight on, for Idün's sake. So that he could avenge her before he died. 'I'll get those sons of bitches,' he muttered aloud. 'For you. I'll kill them. I swear.'

He picked up the jug of seawater. Perhaps he couldn't drink it, but he knew what else it could be useful for. He braced himself, and poured the cold liquid over his chest, splashing it onto the burns as thoroughly as he could.

The pain that followed was simply indescribable. He actually blacked out for a few seconds, and when he woke up he found himself lying on his back, the shattered remains of the jug on the floor beside him. His chest felt as if it had been doused in boiling oil; agonisingly painful to the point that it made his vision blurry. Still, he did not cry out. His face stretched itself into a rigid, silent snarl, and he pounded his fist on the floor until the pain slowly receded, leaving him shuddering in relief.

After that he made himself get up, and paced back and forth in his cell, trying to limber up a little while he waited for something to happen.

After what felt like an hour or so, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor. His heart started to flutter. This was it. He moved to stand close to the door, pressing himself against the wall in the hopes of remaining unseen. The instant anyone opened the door, he would attack – even if it was Vrael himself.

The footsteps halted outside his cell, and he quickly saw who it was. A human woman, accompanied by two guards. The woman took a key from her belt and unlocked the door. Morzan tensed.

The instant the door started to open, he grabbed hold of it and wrenched it open, his other hand striking straight for the woman's face. But she had been prepared for this. She ducked out of the way, and raised her right hand. Yellow magic hit Morzan in the chest, and he staggered backward and hit the wall, slumping down it and landing on the bench. The guards immediately hurried in and restrained him, snapping manacles around his wrists and attaching them to the legs of the bench, preventing him from getting up again. The woman stood by and watched, and once they had done she said; 'Thankyou. You can leave now.'

'Yes, my Lady,' said one of the guards. 'We'll be just outside if you need us.'

The woman nodded and stood aside to let them out. Once they had exited the cell, she locked the door behind them and pocketed the key. The guards left, presumably returning to their posts at the end of the corridor, and once they had gone the woman moved to stand rather awkwardly by the wall opposite Morzan.

Morzan wrenched at his chains. 'Let me up, dammit!' he snarled. 'You try anything on with me, I'll bite you to death, you godsdamned coward!'

The woman held up a hand as if trying to shield herself. 'I'm not going to hurt you,' she said. 'I'm… my name's Lalla. You're Morzan, right?'

'Morzan Drasborn,' Morzan growled.

Tense silence followed.

'I've… been sent to question you,' Lalla said awkwardly, almost apologetically.

Morzan spat. 'I'll tell you nothing,' he said, using the ancient language.

Lalla glanced quickly at the door, and leaned forward toward him. 'You've got to help me!' she hissed. 'Please!'

Morzan looked at her blankly. 'What?'

'I don't want to do this,' said Lalla. 'He's out of his mind!'

'Who is?'

'Vrael. He's got all the riders from Ilirea here. He's going to leave the country. Take us with him, and the elves.'

'Which elves?' said Morzan.

'All of them. He's running away, don't you see? He's building boats. As soon as the elves get here…'

Morzan blinked. Vrael, running away?

'I don't want to go,' said Lalla. 'It's cowardice. And I don't want to hurt you, Morzan. I swear.' She spoke in a low, urgent voice, using the ancient language. 'Please, you've got to help me.'

'How'm I supposed to do that?' said Morzan.

'I don't know,' said Lalla. 'It's madness. Vrael ordered me to try and make me tell you everything you knew about the Betrayer. By any means. I can't. I won't. But if I don't do what Vrael says, he'll lock me up too. Maybe kill me. _I don't know what to do_.'

'Why d'you care?' said Morzan.

'You're the Betrayer's first follower,' said Lalla. 'Everyone knows that. You're his friend. If he finds out I did anything to you, he'll kill me. Vrael's mad, keeping you here. As soon as the Betrayer finds out, he'll come here to save you. He'll kill us all.'

'Then get me out of here,' said Morzan. 'If you help me, Galbatorix won't kill you. I'll tell him you helped me.'

'I can't,' said Lalla. 'I've taken oaths. Everyone has. If I let you out, if I help you in any way…' her face was a mask of agony.

'Then run away,' said Morzan. 'Leave. Find Galbatorix and tell him what you know. He'll set you free.'

'I can't go. If Vrael catches me-,'

Morzan leaned toward her as far as his chains would allow him. 'Listen,' he rasped. 'You wanna die? You wanna end up like me?' He held his arms out so that she could see his chest. 'You want _this_ to happen to you?'

Lalla closed her eyes. 'No,' she whispered.

'Then go to him,' said Morzan. 'It's your only chance.'

'But he's mad,' said Lalla.

'He's not,' Morzan said fiercely. 'You say that again and I'll kill you. He's a great man. He set me free. He wants to save us from Vrael. You want to keep working for Vrael? You want to stay his slave? You want to _die?'_

'No,' said Lalla. 'But… I don't know where to find him.'

Morzan hesitated.

'I won't tell anyone,' said Lalla, still using the ancient language. 'I won't tell anyone what you told me. I swear.'

'Kírtan,' Morzan said at last. 'He's at Kírtan.'


	51. The Shadow That Walks

Chapter Fifty-One

The Shadow that Walks

In his temporary study just under the dragon roost of Vroengard's fortress, Vrael sat at his desk and stared out of the window at the rain. It had been raining for weeks – the weather was not stormy, but the rain had continued to fall in a dreary, relentless deluge that drummed on the windows and made him feel vaguely bored and irritated.

Very little had happened recently. The Betrayer's three followers remained in the dungeons, each one suffering from starvation and torture. However, in spite of everything done to them so far, none of them had given up any useful information. Morzan, for example, had been questioned numerous times by several different people – Vrael had had him beaten and deprived of food and water, and had personally attempted to break into his mind, but nothing – pain, bribery, threats or offers of mercy – had worked. Morzan's only responses had been swearing and threats, and repeated oaths, sworn in the ancient language, that he would not betray his leader or his friends in any way, for any reason. On one occasion, he broke free during an interrogation and killed two of his guards with his bare hands, after which the survivors refused to enter his cell again. Tranah became similarly violent, and Vander simply refused to speak or even look at anyone who addressed him. Vrael, seeing that further interrogation would be pointless, had ordered it to cease and told the guards to give the prisoners food and drink. He couldn't afford to let them die. Dead, they would be useless.

In the meantime, he oversaw the preparation of the ships that would carry himself and the elves away from Alagaësia, and waited for a message to arrive from Islanzadí. Nothing came, from either her or Ilirea. There were now seven riders in Vroengard, following Brom's apparent suicide, and Vrael refused to let any of them leave. Riders were precious now, and he did not want to risk losing any more of them to the Betrayer's rage.

A sharp tapping sound disturbed Vrael from his thoughts. He looked up blankly, unable to see anything that might have caused it.

The tapping came again, and he stood up sharply when he saw the dark shape on the windowsill outside. He crossed the room in three long strides and opened the window. A large black bird flew in, landing on the desk in a flurry of wet feathers. Vrael almost ran to it, and the animal stood patiently and let him take the scroll from its leg.

The little piece of paper was sealed with the emblem of the riders. Vrael broke it and unfurled it. He recognised the handwriting instantly – Saraswati's.

He read the note. He read it again, not quite believing what he had just read. But the message had not changed.

The room seemed to grow dark, as if the rainclouds were creeping in through the open window. Vrael closed it, an action that seemed to take forever. His fingers felt like pieces of wood. He wandered back to his desk and slumped into his chair. He sat there for a long time, hearing nothing but the sound of the rain, his pale eyes staring at nothing. In his hand, the note crumpled.

A few moments later, someone knocked on the door. Vrael nearly vaulted upright, drawing his sword before he knew what he was doing. 'Who is it?' he rasped.

The door opened, and an elf came in. 'My Lord Vrael-,'

Vrael relaxed slightly. 'Maerwen. It's you.'

Maerwen's face was pale. 'My Lord, something bad has happened,' she said.

Vrael's grip tightened on his sword. 'What?'

'It's Lalla, sir. She's vanished.'

'What d'you mean "vanished"?'

'Just that, sir. She's gone. Her things are gone too, and Somerscales, her dragon. She's run off.'

'When?' said Vrael.

'We're not sure,' said Maerwen. 'Sometime during the night. She was on sentry duty, so no-one saw her leave.'

'We will have to question the others,' said Vrael. 'One of them must know something.'

'Yes, sir,' said Maerwen. She paused. 'Sir… there's something else.'

Vrael did not miss the quietness in her voice, or the hint of fear in her eyes. 'What… is it?' he asked softly, almost dangerously.

'There's someone in the fort, sir,' said Maerwen. 'I don't know who it is, but… this morning three people saw something over by the kitchens. I asked them about it, and from what they said… it sounded like a ghost.'

'Idiotic human superstitions,' said Vrael. 'Why are you wasting my time with this?'

'It's not a ghost, sir,' said Maerwen. 'The servants said it looked like a living shadow. But it has to be someone real.'

Vrael went cold. 'Why?'

Maerwen stared at her feet. 'It's Sadron, sir. He's dead. Murdered.'

Vrael stared at her for a few seconds, utterly motionless. Then he turned away.

'Sir, you've got to do something,' said Maerwen, with considerable courage. 'We have a rebel in the fort. A dangerous one. If he isn't caught…'

Vrael did not reply. Maerwen, watching him cautiously, saw the scroll of paper clenched in his hand. She glanced at the bird still perched on the table. 'What is it, sir? Have you had a message?'

Vrael turned, holding the scroll. 'Yes,' he said, his voice flat and distant. 'Saraswati has written to me. She has had a message from Queen Islanzadí.'

'At last!' said Maerwen. 'Is she finally coming here, sir?'

Vrael closed his eyes for a moment. 'No, Maerwen. She cannot leave Du Weldenvarden. The Betrayer has…'

Maerwen breathed in sharply. 'What is it, sir? What has he done?'

'Du Weldenvarden has been ravaged,' said Vrael, his voice breaking. 'Kírtan, Sílthrim, Ilía Fëon and Nädindel… gone. Just like Osilon. The Great Betrayer has destroyed them. Completely and utterly. No survivors.'

'Oh gods…' Maerwen whispered. 'No! _No!_'

'It's true,' Vrael said softly. 'He has destroyed us. The elves are finished. Only Ellesméra is left. He entered it and massacred many of its inhabitants, but spared the survivors. He has promised Islanzadí that he will return and kill all those who are left if her people ever leave Du Weldenvarden again.'

'How could he?' said Maerwen. 'How could…?'

'The half-breed is insane,' said Vrael. 'Insane and evil. There is no reasoning left in him. Murder is all he knows how to do. We cannot fight him. Our time is over. Our only hope of survival is to leave. Go now and inform the others. I must write a message to Saraswati.'

'What about the others, sir?' said Maerwen. 'The ones who went into hiding?'

'There is nothing we can do for them now,' said Vrael. 'Go now, Maerwen.'

Maerwen hesitated in the doorway. 'What about the murderer, sir?'

'Inform everyone in the fort,' said Vrael. 'Organise a search. Do not miss a single corner. If there is someone hiding in here, he will be found. And when that happens, he is to be brought to me, unharmed. Is that understood?'

'Yes, sir,' said Maerwen.

Night fell over Vroengard, damp and smothering. In his cell, Morzan lay on his bench, unmoving.

He was sick, and he knew it. The burns on his chest had become infected; they had turned purple and continually leaked a foul whitish pus which crusted on his ragged tunic, making it stink of decay. They did not hurt very much, but everything else did. After the numerous beatings he had endured, he had bruising on much of his body, along with two missing teeth and several cracked ribs. Every movement hurt. But he had forced himself to eat the food they brought him, and to drink as much as he could, determined to keep his strength up.

But there was nothing he could do to prevent the spread of the infection. It got into his system with alarming speed, sapping his strength. He quickly became sick and delirious; he would sleep and have spectacular fever dreams – dreams that were so real that he soon found himself unable to tell the difference between waking and sleeping, reality and hallucination. He couldn't remember how long he had been in the cell, or what had happened in there. People had asked him questions, but what had they said? And what had he answered? He'd sent someone to get help… or had he? He didn't know.

He lay and listened to the rain, and wondered how long it would be before he finally died. Maybe he could see Idün again.

_You can see me now, silly,_ a voice whispered in his head.

Morzan blinked. 'I-Idün?'

_I'm here, you big dope,_ her voice told him affectionately.

He stared at the roof, and thought he could see the shape of her in the shadows. 'Idün!'

_Yes, I'm here. You're safe, Morzan. I've come to get you out of here._

Morzan smiled. 'I thought… you were dead.'

_So did I,_ said Idün. _But I'm all right now. Come on._

Morzan got up, and the walls of the cell melted away, leaving him standing on a grassy moor with his sword on his back. Idün was there, large as life, her red scales gleaming like rubies in the sunlight. _Come on!_ she told him. _We've got to go! The others are waiting!_

Morzan climbed onto her back. 'Where are they, Idün? Are they far away?'

_Not far. Not too far. _

The red dragon took off, and they flew, soaring among white clouds and sharing their happiness. They knew where they were going.

Then they were there. He didn't remember their landing; one moment they were in the air, and the next they were standing side-by-side in a darkened hall. The others were there, waiting, and Galbatorix was with them. He came forward, smiling. _Morzan! There you are! I was worried – we all were. What kept you?_

'I couldn't help it,' said Morzan. 'It was the oath. I couldn't break it, sir.'

Galbatorix's smile faded. _You betrayed me, Morzan,_ he said. _You betrayed me!_

'No!' said Morzan. 'I didn't! I wouldn't!'

But even as he spoke, a hundred shadowy figures rushed into the room. They rushed at Galbatorix, swords drawn, and began to hit him from all sides. He screamed, blood soaking into his hair. _You betrayed me!_ he yelled. _You betrayed me!_

'NO!' Morzan cried. '_NO!_'

He rushed at them, trying to stop it, but the shadows came after him too, knocking him down. They stabbed him in the chest, and he screamed at the pain, and then they were gone and he was alone, dying, sobbing in the dark. '_No. No. Forgive me. Don't die, don't die… Idün…_'

But then he heard Galbatorix's voice again. _Morzan? Morzan?_

Morzan groaned. 'I couldn't help it,' he mumbled. 'I couldn't help it. Idün, Idün, Idün…'

'Morzan?' the voice said again.

Morzan looked up, and Galbatorix's face swam into view, looking down at him. 'Sir…?'

'Yes, Morzan. It's me. I'm here.' A cool hand touched his forehead. 'Oh, gods, Morzan…'

Morzan blinked slowly. He was in his cell, lying on the bench. It had all been a dream… or was it still a dream? He wasn't sure. But misery thumped into his stomach when he realised that it had not been true. Idün had not come for him, she was not alive, and nor had Galbatorix come to find him.

'Morzan,' a voice whispered. 'Stay awake, Morzan. You've got to make yourself stay awake.'

Morzan peered at the vague shape that hovered over him. 'Who's… who's there?'

'It's me, Morzan,' said the voice. 'It's Galbatorix. I've come to get you out of here.'

Morzan's heart leapt. 'Sir!'

'Shhh! Keep still. Stay quiet. If they catch me…'

The shape moved slightly, letting the torchlight from outside touch Morzan's face. His eyes finally readjusted to the gloom, and he saw Galbatorix's pale, angular face looking down at him, black eyes concerned. 'Oh my gods,' he breathed. 'It's you. It's really you. How did you get here?'

Galbatorix glanced at the cell door. 'I've infiltrated the fort. Just lie still. I've got to heal you. And hope to gods no-one comes along and sees me. I've had too many near misses already. Listen, Morzan… how badly hurt are you? Where's the worst of it?'

Morzan tried to get up, but slumped back. 'My chest,' he whispered. 'On my chest.'

Galbatorix carefully peeled back his shirt, flinching when he saw the decaying wounds. 'Oh gods… Morzan, what have they done to you?'

'They wanted… wanted to know,' Morzan mumbled. 'Where you were. I wouldn't tell them. Sir, you've got to… get out of here. It's Vrael. He's here.'

'I know,' said Galbatorix. He spread his hand over the wounds. 'I hope Vander's lessons worked… _Flytja thr eitr sjá sœra_.'

Black magic glowed around his hand and onto the burns, and Morzan gasped at the sudden pain. He lay still, too sick to do anything else, and closed his eyes as the magic went to work.

Little by little, the poison seeped out of the burns on Morzan's chest. Galbatorix watched closely, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of his energy seeping out of him. He raged internally at what had been done to his friend, angry not just with the ones who had done it, but at himself as well. He should have foreseen it. He should have been more cautious. He should have realised that Vrael might go to Vroengard. He should have gone himself. If Morzan died, or Tranah, or Vander…

The last of the muck finally drained out of Morzan's wounds, and the nasty purple and red swelling around them went down. Galbatorix let the flow of magic cease, and paused a moment to breathe in deeply. Morzan's face looked a little less pale already; Galbatorix sighed gladly and spread his hand over his chest again. '_Waíse heill.'_

The wounds closed over, forming ugly red scars where they had been. By the time the spell had been completed, Morzan's chest was covered in raised welts, as if he had been savaged by a wolf.

Galbatorix withdrew his hand, heart fluttering with relief. The sound of footsteps came from outside, and in the blink of an eye he withdrew into the corner, pulling his hood over his head to conceal his face. The guard walked past the cell door, pausing to glance inside, and then moved on. Galbatorix sighed in relief. Staying where he was, he whispered; 'How d'you feel, Morzan?'

Morzan stirred and sat up, wincing. He touched his chest, feeling the scars, and sighed. 'Thankyou, sir. Thankyou.' He stood up, glancing at the door, and then came toward the corner where Galbatorix hid.

'Stay back,' Galbatorix warned. 'Don't look at me. I have to keep hidden.'

Morzan sat down again. 'Sorry.'

'It's fine. Hold still, I'll give you your magic back.' Galbatorix reached into Morzan's mind. Morzan let him in, and he located the mental block that had been placed in there to disable his magic and telepathy and dissolved it as gently as he could. Morzan shuddered as he withdrew, but quickly recovered. He healed a few of his other injuries, then used a spell to lift his water jug, pulling it toward him. He snatched it out of the air and downed the contents in a few gulps, grinning to himself.

'Don't show off,' Galbatorix hissed. 'Now listen…' he made mental contact again. _'It's probably better if we talk like this,'_ his mental voice said. _'Now, what do you know about the others? Vander and Tranah? Are they in here too?'_

'_Yeah,'_ said Morzan. _'Tranah's opposite me an' Vander's down the hall.'_

'_How are they? Are they hurt?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Morzan. _'Both tortured, same as me. Dunno how bad. Tran's alive, and I think I heard Vander's voice a while back… dunno how long ago. Sir, what's going on with you? How'd you get in here? Where're the others?'_

'_Shruikan's hiding outside,'_ said Galbatorix. _'The others are on the coast, West of Therinsford. Or that's where I left them. At dawn they'll fly over here.'_

'_You came here on your own?'_

'_Not alone. Shruikan's not far away. I got into the fort yesterday – got a door open with magic and hid in the wine cellar. They figured out I was around – I spent most of today hiding from the bastards. Had to wait until night to come down here.'_

'_What're we gonna do?' _said Morzan. _'I'll try an' help, but I'm not much good right now. If they catch you in here…'_

'_Who in their right mind would look inside a locked cell? Don't worry; as long as we're quick we'll be fine. I'm going to leave you in here and break into Tranah's cell. I'll heal her and give her her magic back, and once I've done that I'll go to Vander. Once you're all ready, I'll let you out of your cells and we'll get out of the fort to where Shruikan is. You'll be safe by the time the others get here.'_

'_How many of the others are coming?'_ said Morzan. _'There's a lot of riders here. I don't know how many…'_

'_Five including Vrael,'_ said Galbatorix. _'There were seven, but one of them's run away and another one had an unwelcome visitor.'_

'_Listen, sir,' _said Morzan. _'One of the riders here… human woman called Lalla… she's kind of on our side. They sent her to question me but she didn't – told me she didn't want to do it and she wouldn't hurt me even though they'd ordered her to because she knew you'd kill her for it. I told her to run away and find you. Dunno if she listened, but she never laid a hand on me. She wanted to help me, but they'd made her swear.'_

'_Lalla,'_ Galbatorix repeated. _'I know that name. She's the one who's run off. I haven't seen her, but she's not here any more.'_

'_So she didn't find you?'_ said Morzan. _'When I saw you, I thought maybe she'd gone to you and told you I was here. But if she didn't, then how'd you _know_, sir?'_

Galbatorix paused. _'I had a feeling. I've brought the others. All of them. We're going to destroy this place. That bastard Vrael is going to pay, and so is everyone helping him.'_

Morzan sighed deeply. _'I'm sorry, sir. Sorry I let meself end up here. I got hurt. I mean…' _he paused and shuddered. _'Idün… Idün was hurt. I was trying to heal her an' I passed out. When I woke up, I was in here. And Idün's… she's dead. I've lost her, sir.'_

'_Don't apologise,'_ Galbatorix said softly. _'It's my fault. I shouldn't have sent you here. I was arrogant. I thought all the real opposition had gone, but I was wrong. Please forgive me, Morzan. For what happened to you, and to Idün… gods, Morzan, how can you possibly want to follow me any more, after what I've done to you? No rider should lose their dragon, but I made it happen to you. I'm a fool, Morzan.'_

Morzan stood up. _'It ain't your fault, sir,'_ he said. _'I knew the risk. We both did. You've led us better than anyone could. So many victories, and no-one dead except them.'_

'_Then it should have stayed that way,'_ Galbatorix said bitterly.

'_Idün knew what she was doing,'_ said Morzan. _'She was willing to die for you if she had to. An' so did I.'_

'_Don't _talk_ like that!'_ Galbatorix exclaimed. _'I don't want people to die for me! If anyone's going to die to win this war, it should be me.'_

'_No, sir,'_ said Morzan. _'It should be them.'_

Galbatorix calmed down a little. _'Yes… you're right.'_ The shadow moved slightly as he stared out through the cell door. _'No sign of anyone… I should go now.'_ He emerged from the shadow, holding a hand out toward the door. A soft clicking sound came from it, and it swung very slightly ajar. Galbatorix walked toward it with his usual prowling movement, eerily silent as always. He paused with his hand on the door, watching the corridor for any sign of movement.

Morzan stood up. 'Good luck, sir,' he murmured, and embraced his master fiercely. Galbatorix hugged him back. 'I'm so sorry, Morzan,' he said. 'I swear I'll get you out of here. I swear it.'

Morzan let go of him. 'I trust you, sir,' he said, hope returning to his dulled eyes.

Galbatorix held out a hand toward the door of the cell opposite, and concentrated. He heard the lock click and paused again, looking down the corridor in both directions. There was still no-one in sight. He opened the door of Morzan's cell, closed it behind him and slipped into Tranah's cell with a flick of his robe. Once he was safely inside he closed the door, hearing the lock click back into place, and melted into a shadowy corner. He waited there, scarcely breathing, watching another guard pass. He'd made it.

Once the guard was out of sight, he looked for Tranah and found her lying on her side in the other corner of the cell, her arms clasped protectively around her chest. She seemed to be asleep; he could hear her soft, shuddering breathing.

He reached into her mind, carefully weaving his way through her dark dreams, and removed the mental block. She stirred and moaned slightly at this, but made no other sound, and he spoke to her, keeping his mental voice low. _'Tranah. Tranah, wake up. It's me. You're safe.'_

Tranah groaned and moved her head. 'What…?' she said in a slurred voice. 'Aedua?'

Galbatorix checked the corridor, and emerged from his shadow, letting her see him. She squinted at him. One of her eyes was swollen shut, but the other one blinked and focused on him. 'Sir?' she mumbled. 'Is that… is that you? No. No, can't be.'

'It's me,' said Galbatorix. 'It's Galbatorix. Keep quiet. We can't let them hear us.' He withdrew into his shadow again, not daring to stay visible any longer.

Tranah raised herself with her arms, staring at the spot where he'd been with an expression of pure joy. 'Sir!' she said again. 'I don't believe it! How did you-?'

'Quiet!' Galbatorix hissed. 'The guards!'

Tranah glanced quickly at the door, and reached out mentally. He let her in, and her mental voice said; _'Sir, what the hell are you doing here? They haven't caught you too, have they?'_

'_No, Tranah. I've broken in. I've come to rescue you.'_

Tranah was silent for a while, and then he sensed a feeling of intense happiness from her. _'Aedua's alive,'_ she said. _'She's alive! Oh, thank gods, thank gods, I thought she was dead! They blocked my mind so I couldn't feel her any more… did you remove it, sir?'_

'_Yes. Tranah, are you all right? Are you hurt?'_

Tranah shuddered, her joy suddenly evaporating. _'They've… my legs are broken. I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't help it. I fought as hard as I could, but they got Morzan. It's Vrael, sir. He's here, and at least five others with him. They got Morzan… told us to surrender or they'd kill him. I didn't have a choice. They took my sword… brought me down here… Vander too, and Morzan. They… we all… the guards came in here, and…'_

'_What did they do?'_ Galbatorix asked urgently. _'Tranah, calm down. What did they do? Do you have any other injuries? I need to know so I can heal them.'_

'_Just my legs, and a few bruises,' _said Tranah. _'But it's… oh gods, I'm such a fool.' _Her distress was so deep it nearly overwhelmed him as well. He could feel her fear, and her agony. Realising that she was close to panicking, he wrapped his mind around hers and fed her a feeling of calmness, as he had once done to Laela when she needed comfort. Tranah responded, and he felt he slowly relax again. _'Thankyou… thankyou, sir. I just… need to rest.'_

'_Tranah, what did they do?'_ said Galbatorix, though he had a horrible feeling that he already knew.

Tranah was silent for a long time. _'They wanted information,'_ she said at last, in a sharp, bitter voice. _'So they let the guards use me however they wanted. They broke my legs when I fought back.'_

Rage flooded into Galbatorix's mind. He broke off contact with Tranah and slammed his fist into the wall, so hard his knuckles cracked. '_Rwyt ti'n esgys fach pathetic am dyn!_ Godsdammit, godsdammit, _godsdammit!'_

'Are you going to get us out of here?' Tranah asked in defeated tones. 'I can't walk, sir. I'm sorry.'

Galbatorix said nothing. He edged toward her, ignoring the pain in his knuckles, and spread his hand over her right leg. _'Waíse heill.'_

Tranah cried out as the bone in her leg cracked, shifting around as it melded back into a solid whole. Galbatorix kept the magic flowing until it was done, and once he had hidden to let the guard pass again he returned and healed the other. After that Tranah was able to get up and attend to her other wounds. _'What d'you want me to do, sir?'_ she asked mentally. _'I'll go out there with you and fight those pieces of filth. Just say the word. I'm going to make them pay.'_

'_Where's Vander?'_ said Galbatorix. _'I have to get to him and heal him before I let you all out. Once he's all right, I'll get you out of here to safety. The others are going to come at dawn and attack.'_

'_The others?' _said Tranah. _'Which others?'_

'_All of them.'_

'_All? What about the elves? Have you attacked them yet?'_

'_Yes, Tranah.'_

'_How did it go?'_

'_We won,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Kírtan, Sílthrim, Ilía Fëon and Nädindel are gone. We left no-one alive. As for Ellesméra, we attacked there too. Defeated them, took Islanzadí hostage and rounded them all up. I gave them the warning, and we left. There's only a couple of hundred elves left in Du Weldenvarden now, and if they've got any sense they'll never leave it again.'_

'_I knew it,'_ said Tranah, her eyes shining. _'I _knew_ it, sir. I knew you'd do it. It kept me going in here, knowing the elves were being punished. Knowing you were going to win even if I didn't live to see it. I told Vrael that myself, you know. Told him to his face. I said that even if he killed me, you'd find him and kill him. "He's coming for you", I said. "You and the rest of your kind". He sneered at me, but I saw the look in his eyes. He knows it, and he's afraid. And he should be.'_

'_You didn't tell him anything?'_

'_Of course not,' _said Tranah. _'I would rather die.' _She sat down on the bench. _'You should go now, sir. Vander's in a cell a few along from me. That way.'_

Galbatorix nodded. _'I'll be back soon, Tranah.'_

He unlocked her door again, slipped out into the corridor and walked silently along past the rows of doors, horribly aware of how exposed he was. But he found Vander's cell after a quick search, and unlocked it with a spell.

As he was reaching out to open it, the sound of footsteps behind him made his blood turn to ice. Without thinking, he moved back from the door and flattened himself against the wall beside it, turning his head to make himself as small as possible.

He could see the guard coming, and his heart pounded. The shadow by the wall was hopelessly inadequate – nowhere near big enough to hide him. The guard was going to see him, and when that happened all hell would break loose.

Nearly panicking, he started to summon up a spell that would take the man down quickly and quietly, but there was no time, no time… even as the magic responded to his will, it was already too late – the guard was on him.

Galbatorix stayed utterly still, his face pressed against the hard stone of the wall, his heart pounding so hard it made him feel dizzy. He could see the guard, right in front of him, see his armour and the sword at his side, see his eyes gleaming in the torchlight. Any second now those eyes would land on him, and then would come the shout of surprise, the attack, the alert, the summoning of the other guards stationed at the end of the corridor, and then, most likely, the alerting of Vrael and the other riders, and an assault by them that he would not be able to fight off alone.

But then, as he braced himself for the battle to come, the guard walked on by. He passed Vander's cell, casting a cursory glance at its occupant, and them moved on.

For a long time, Galbatorix didn't move. He stayed where he was, nearly rigid with fright, until the sound of a groan from Vander's cell snapped him out of his shock. He breathed in deeply and slipped into the cell, closing the door behind him.

Vander was awake and sitting up on his bench, staring at him in utter astonishment. 'My Lord Galbatorix?'

Galbatorix hid himself in a shadow. 'Keep quiet, Vander,' he hissed.

Vander stood up. 'How did you get here, sir?' he whispered.

'I've broken in. Go back and sit down, Vander. Don't look at me.'

Vander hastily obeyed. 'By Xanathus, I'm glad to see you sir,' he said. 'I was starting to give up.'

Galbatorix reached into his mind and removed the mental block. _'There,'_ he said mentally once this was done. _'You're free. Vander, how are you?'_

'_I'm hurt, sir,'_ said Vander. _'Not too badly, but…'_

'_Come over here and let me heal you. There's no time to waste. I've visited Morzan and Tranah; they're both all right – I've healed their wounds. I'll heal you and then we'll get out of here together. I'll get you to safety, all right?'_

'_Understood, sir,'_ said Vander, coming to stand by the back wall.

'_Good. Now hold still.'_

Every single one of Vander's delicate fingers was broken. Galbatorix healed them one at a time, though he felt himself becoming dangerously fatigued, and when he had done Vander said; _'Thankyou, sir. That's all I really needed. They were a little more gentle with me. They probably thought I wouldn't survive if they were too rough…'_

Galbatorix had to stifle an incredulous laugh at this. _'"Gentle"! Always a master of understatement, aren't you, Vander?'_

Vander did not smile. _'I consider myself lucky, after what they did to Morzan and Tranah. How are they, sir?'_

'_They'll live,'_ Galbatorix said grimly. _'But they won't be the same again. Morzan's lost Idün. And poor Tranah…'_

'_No time for that, sir,'_ said Vander. _'What's the plan?'_

'_We get out of here,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Wait here. I'm going to go and get your swords back, if I can find them, or at least find some you can use. When I get back, I'll let you out and we'll make a break for it. Shruikan says it's nearly dawn now. The others will attack here soon, and we have to get clear before then. D'you think you can fight, Vander?'_

'_I'll do my best, sir.'_

'_All right. Wait here. I'll be back soon.'_

'_Good luck, sir,'_ said Vander.

Galbatorix patted him on the shoulder and made for the door. Once the guard had passed again, he opened it and sprinted down the corridor as fast as he could go. He reached the end of it and ducked into the storeroom beyond. It was unoccupied, and he closed the door behind him and used magic to summon up a dim light.

The room was full of sacks and crates; he had a look inside one or two and found they contained supplies like food and blankets. Against one wall was a cupboard. It was locked, but he opened it easily enough with magic. Inside there was a little heap of items – daggers, lengths of string, pieces of jewellery and other odds and ends – the kinds of things people kept in their pockets. He recognised some of them as having belonged to Morzan, Tranah or Vander, and quickly pocketed them. But on the back wall of the cupboard was something else – weapons. Bows, arrows, axes… and swords. Three swords – riders' swords – one red, one green and one brown. Galbatorix lifted them down and tucked them into his swordbelt, then exited the storeroom.

Back in the corridor, he reached Morzan's cell first and quickly opened the door. Morzan was waiting, and he gave Zar'roc back to him. 'Wait here,' he told him. 'Hold onto the door – don't let it close or it'll lock. The instant you see me pass, come out and follow. All right?'

Morzan nodded quickly. 'Yes, sir,' he said, gripping Zar'roc's hilt tightly.

Galbatorix waited for the guard to pass again, and returned to Tranah's cell. She too was ready, and he gave her back her sword, Laufsblađ. 'Wait here; I'll get Vander,' he told her. 'Keep the door slightly open, and be ready to fight. When we come past, follow us. Keep it quiet. If we're confronted by anyone, we attack. Take them down quick and quiet. Got that?'

Tranah nodded once, and Galbatorix returned to Vander's cell. The skinny man was also prepared, and eagerly took back his sword, Xantho Rannimuch.

Galbatorix drew White Violence and withdrew into the shadows. 'Right,' he said in an undertone. 'We'll wait for the guard to go past again, and then we're out of here.'

Vander hid his sword under the bench, and waited. As soon as the guard had gone by again, Galbatorix re-emerged. He opened the door and slipped out into the corridor, and Vander followed. They sneaked along it until they were well away from the guardroom behind them, and then they broke into a run. Morzan and Tranah emerged from their cells as they passed, and fell in behind them, swords at the ready.

Galbatorix had already explored various escape-routes earlier in the day, and had gone over the one he had chosen in his head over and over again, mentally rehearsing it. He led the way up a flight of stairs and turned left at the corridor above, following it around a corner and into the abandoned kitchens. There the four of them helped themselves to some unattended food, and rested for a few brief moments.

Galbatorix crossed to a spot beside the big fireplace where the spit stood cold and empty, and opened a large metal hatch set into the wall. 'Garbage chute,' he said briefly. 'It leads straight out of the fort. There's a drop into the sea on the other side. Anyone fancy a swim?'

Vander came and peered through. 'A narrow fit,' he observed. 'But I can make it. Where do I go from there?'

Galbatorix pointed to his left. 'That way along the coastline, until you reach the spot where there's a big cliff. There's a cave in there – you can't miss it. Shruikan's inside. He'll be watching out for you. Go in there and lie low. There's some food there; not much, but it should do. Who wants to go first?'

'I'll go first,' said Vander. He put his sword back into its sheath, and Galbatorix held the hatch open while he poked one leg through. Tranah and Morzan had to lift him so he could get the other through, but it was plain that he was going to fit easily. He paused, stuck halfway through the opening, and looked at Galbatorix. 'Thankyou, sir,' he said softly. 'You've saved our lives.'

Galbatorix smiled. 'You're more than welcome; you're entitled. Now get going, dammit!'

Vander slid through the chute and vanished.

'I'll go next,' said Tranah.

It was a tighter fit this time, but she made it through thanks to a shove from Morzan, and once she had gone Galbatorix said; 'You next, Morzan.'

Morzan hesitated. 'You should go next, sir. In case I don't fit.'

Galbatorix glanced quickly over his shoulder. 'You'll need me here to help you through if that happens. Go on, there's no time for arguing.'

'All right, sir. And thankyou, sir.'

Galbatorix held the chute open as far as it would go. 'Go on, Morzan. We can talk later.'

Morzan didn't waste any more time. He lifted one leg into the chute, and Galbatorix gave him a leg up for the other. This time it was not so easy; in spite of the starvation he had endured, Morzan's broad chest wouldn't fit through the gap. He snarled and wriggled frantically, trying to make himself squeeze through, but the motion only made things worse, and he ended up wedged in place, unable to go in either direction.

'I'm stuck, sir,' he said. 'Godsdammit, I'm sorry.'

Galbatorix shoved at his shoulders, but couldn't move him. 'It's Zar'roc,' he said. 'You didn't take it out of its sheath – it's in the way. Hold on a moment.' He took hold of the red sword's hilt and wrenched it out of its scabbard, though he had to brace himself against the wall in order to do so. The moment it was out, Morzan felt the gap loosen slightly. He slid through it with a grateful sigh, but put one arm back to grab the edge of the chute and prevent himself from falling through. 'Gimme back Zar'roc, will yeh?'

Galbatorix put the hilt into his hand. 'There. See you later.'

Morzan grasped the sword, and let himself fall. He hit the water below with a loud splash, and nearly lost hold of Zar'roc in the process, but managed not to lose it. He clawed his way to the surface and thrashed there for a while, gasping in air, Zar'roc still clasped tightly in one hand. The weapon was heavy and kept dragging him down, but he refused to let go of it. He breathed in deeply and took it in both hands, clumsily guiding it back into its scabbard. It went in after a few goes, and he resurfaced in near-complete blackness. It was still raining, and he could hear the sound of surf. The sea was icy cold and very deep, and he had no idea where land was. He swam off in arbitrary direction, hoping to find something to guide him, but he made very little progress – Zar'roc, combined with his wet clothes, weighed him down and made him even clumsier in the water than usual. He started to panic, but before he had sunk again a wave picked him up and carried him away with it. He fought against it, but it was stronger. It dragged him sideways with relentless force, and a few seconds later he slammed bodily into something hard. He grabbed at it, pain spiking through his back, and his fingers gripped something rough and jagged. A rock, he realised, with a surge of relief.

He held onto it until he had his breath back, more waves splashing against him, and then cast about for some sign of where he should go. He had lost his sense of direction almost immediately, and now he didn't know where he was. In the end, not knowing what else to do, he reached out with his mind in the hopes of finding help.

He made contact with Tranah after a few moments; she recognised him and let him speak to her. _'Morzan, where are you?'_ she said immediately.

'_I dunno, in the water somewhere. I'm holding onto a big rock. Dunno which way to go.'_

'_Where's the moon?'_ said Tranah. _'Right or left?'_

Morzan looked around, lifting his chin awkwardly to avoid the spray. He finally spotted the moon, sitting low in the sky somewhere to his right. _'It's on the right side of me,'_ he said.

'_Then head away from it,'_ said Tranah. _'The cave's not far.'_

'_All right.'_ Morzan let go of the rock and struck out in that direction, forcing his powerful arms to work as hard as they could. The waves constantly pulled him toward the shore, and more than once he smacked into the rocks that stood out at the base of the cliff, but he kept going, occasionally finding solid ground under his feet to shove off from. After what felt like fifteen minutes of cold, blind swimming, he spotted a light up ahead and headed hopefully toward it.

A few moments later the sea calmed, and he wearily swam the last part of the journey, feeling as if he hadn't slept in months. His boots suddenly hit rock, and he climbed out of the water and slumped down on the floor of the cave, gasping like a landed fish.

Tranah and Vander were there already, and helped him get up and come into the relative shelter of the cave. They had already lit a fire, and Shruikan was there, crouched at the back of the cave like some dark sentinel, his gold eyes gleaming.

Morzan sat down by the fire, teeth chattering. 'A sh-short bl-bloody way!' he said. 'I'll c-call you a d-damned liar for that, Tranah.'

Tranah crouched wearily on the opposite side of the fire. 'Well it's a small price to pay. Did you see Galbatorix?'

Morzan shook his head. 'I w-went before him. He'll be here in a minute, probably.'Shruikan stirred and brought his head down toward them. _'He's not coming.'_

'What, Shruikan?' said Tranah.

'_He's not coming,'_ Shruikan said again. _'He stayed behind.'_

Morzan swore. 'He what? Why?'

'_He's gone to look for Vrael,'_ said Shruikan.


	52. Duel of the Fates

Chapter Fifty-Two

Duel of the Fates

Vrael lay in his fine bed with his sword beside him, his fine face furrowed as he dreamed dark dreams to the relentless drumming of the rain.

He dreamed that he was in the elders' chamber in Ilirea, with Nöst and Saraswati beside him. A bed lay in front of him, and on it lay a child. He could hear it crying. But when he looked down at it, he saw that it already had a full head of fine, curly black hair. It opened its eyes and stared up at him. Black eyes. Cold and glittering, staring at him.

_Murderer,_ it whispered. An adult voice, deep and dark and commanding, with a Teirmish accent.

There was a pillow in his hands, and he pressed it over the child's face, blotting out those accusing eyes. But he could still hear the voice.

_Murderer._

Vrael woke up with a start, reaching automatically for his sword. He found it and pulled the weapon toward him, heart pounding. The feel of the cool metal on his skin soothed him, and he looked around, trying to collect himself. It was still dark, and his eyes ached. Outside he could hear the rain still falling. He sighed and lay back, trying to relax again.

A faint breath of air blew past him, and the back of his neck prickled. He lifted his head, staring at the shadows, but saw nothing.

But he did not relax again. He sat up slowly and carefully, grasping Snœr'ónd tighly. There was a presence in the room. He could sense it.

'Who's there?' he said aloud.

There was no reply.

Vrael's heart pounded. 'Show yourself.'

Still, nothing moved and he heard nothing. But then he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and turned sharply. Nothing. Just shadows.

'_I am the shadow that comes in the night.'_

Vrael went cold all over. The voice had been faint, so faint he had barely heard it.

'Show yourself!'

'_I am the fear that lurks in your heart.'_

Vrael fumbled for the candle on his bedside table, nearly sick with fear.

'_I am the King who rules over the dead.'_

His fingers closed around the candle, and he lifted it. Cold laughter echoed in his ears as he raised his right hand and muttered the lighting spell. The candle spluttered into life, and light finally came into the room.

Vrael stared straight ahead, and his heart leapt into his mouth.

A tall, shrouded figure was standing at the end of his bed, its face covered. Even as Vrael snatched up his sword, it pulled back its hood, and for a fraction of a second the two of them looked directly at each other.

The Great Betrayer grinned wolfishly at him. 'Surprise!' he said, and vanished with a flick of his black robe.

Vrael lurched out of bed, his bare feet hitting the floor, and ran at the spot where he had been. There was no-one there. He heard the door slam and ran toward it, sword in hand. He reached it, wrenched it open, and burst out into the corridor. He was just in time to see the dark figure disappear around the corner, and went in pursuit. Around the corner there was another corridor leading into a number of other bedchambers.

Vrael paused, looking around urgently. The corridor was empty except for the silent bodies of the guards that had been posted there, lying where they had fallen. None of them had drawn their swords.

'Try and keep up,' a voice said in his ear.

Vrael turned, swinging his sword. It hit the wall in a shower of sparks, and laughter came from somewhere to his right.

'Too slow!' the voice called, and when Vrael turned he saw him there, large as life, lounging against a door and examining his fingernails.

'YOU!' he snarled, starting toward him.

The Great Betrayer laughed at him and darted away down the corridor, making no sound at all, like a shadow come to life. Vrael ran after him as fast as he could, but it was like chasing a ghost. The Betrayer seemed to appear and disappear at will, slipping in and out of the shadows, mocking him at every turn.

'I am the shadow that comes in the night, I am the fear that lurks in your heart, I am the one with the hole in his heart, I am the Betrayer and the Betrayed,' he chanted, leading Vrael on along the corridor. 'I am the King who rules over the dead, I am the rider on the wings of the storm. The Scourge of the Elves, the Riders' Bane, Master of the Night, Lord of the Forsworn, Vrael's Curse.' And he laughed, his cold snickering echoing in the shadows as he darted through a door and vanished.

Vrael reached it a few seconds later, and wrenched it open. On the other side was a set of stairs, leading up to the dragon roost. The Lord of Riders ran up them, taking them two at a time. 'I've got you,' he snarled as he ran. 'There's nowhere to go from there.'

The trapdoor at the top was open. Vrael vaulted through it and into the open air. The dragon roost was unoccupied; all the dragons were sheltering on the ground, where they would be less obvious targets. The stone underfoot was wet and slick from the rain, and overhead, pale lightning flashed from time to time. Somewhere among the clouds, a silvery crescent moon gleamed faintly.

The Great Betrayer was standing by the edge, the wind ruffling his hair. He had his sword in his hand, and his eyes were fixed on Vrael's face. 'Murderer,' he said softly.

Vrael advanced on him. 'I've got you now, half-breed,' he snarled. 'There's nowhere to go from here. You're cornered. Surrender, and you'll be exiled.'

Galbatorix laughed again – a dead, humourless laugh. 'You should have known this was going to happen. You should have known I would come for you… Father.'

'I am not your father,' Vrael rasped.

'But you made me, Vrael,' said Galbatorix, pointing at him. 'You made me into what I am. My father was Skandar Traeganni, but the Great Betrayer's father is you.' Lightning flashed in the sky, reflected in his eyes.

'You're mad,' said Vrael. 'You're insane!'

'And you're dead, murderer,' Galbatorix said, and charged.

But Vrael had already prepared himself. He raised his hand and sent a bolt of white light straight at him, hitting him in the chest. Galbatorix was sent flying backward across the dragon roost. He landed hard, rolled over and came to rest against the wall at the edge. His sword clattered away over the stone, and Vrael kicked it over the edge and into space.

But Galbatorix was not defeated. He flipped himself onto his side and raised his hand.

'Brisingr!'

A ball of black fire shot from his palm, and Vrael narrowly dodged it and hurled another spell. Galbatorix blocked it and leapt forward and upward, regaining his feet with the speed of a cat and simultaneously hurling himself straight at Vrael. The suddenness of the attack caught the elf off guard; Galbatorix's shoulder slammed into his chest, sending him staggering backward. Vrael caught his balance and swung Snœr'ónd directly at Galbatorix's neck. Galbatorix ducked it and punched Vrael in the jaw before quickly darting away from him, seeking the space he needed to attack again with magic. A barrage of spells came thick and fast, each one powerful and well-aimed. Vrael dodged, blocked and counter-attacked, seeking to wear his opponent down so he could get in close and finish him off with his sword. That seemed to have occurred to Galbatorix too, for he started to aim for Vrael's sword-arm, in the hopes of disarming or disabling him. Vrael, grasping his sword in his left hand to leave the right one free, hurled a wordless blast of white lightning across the gap between them. Galbatorix did not have time to shield, and threw himself sideways to avoid it. It hit the stone where he had been standing, shattering it. A piece of red-hot rock clipped his arm, leaving a smoking hole in his robe, and he yelled and sent a reckless blast of black fire back at Vrael. This time Vrael was not quick enough. The spell hit him, blasting him backward, burning his clothes and the skin beneath. He landed hard on his back, gasping and struggling to get up.

Galbatorix did not immediately go after him. He paused a moment to heal his arm, then lifted his face to the sky and howled. The sound was loud and mournful – a near-perfect imitation of a wolf's cry. He howled a second time, and then resumed his attack. Vrael had taken the opportunity to get up again, and he charged at Galbatorix, sword raised.

Galbatorix darted out of the way, and threw another fireball at him. Vrael dodged it and swung Snœr'ónd, landing a glancing blow on Galbatorix's side. Galbatorix ran awkwardly sideways, trying to get out of range without turning his back on his enemy, and continued to throw magic at him. Vrael avoided them clumsily, but did not block or send any magic of his own back. He continued to lash out with his sword, trying to avoid Galbatorix's attacks and get in a decisive blow with the weapon. Galbatorix, dodging around him, realised what was happening – Vrael was badly injured and did not have the energy he needed to keep on fighting with magic, so he had resorted to relying on just his sword.

Galbatorix grinned horribly. He darted in close, and when Vrael swung the sword again he grabbed him by the arm and wrenched it sideways, making the bone crack. Vrael punched him hard in the face, making stars explode in his vision. Galbatorix roared and shoved forward, bodily knocking Vrael over. In his head, he could hear Shruikan's voice. _'Kill him! Kill him, Galbatorix!'_

But Vrael still had his sword. As he fell, he brought it down hard on Galbatorix's back, inflicting a deep wound. Galbatorix reeled away from him, crying out, and fell awkwardly onto his side, blood soaking into his robe.

Vrael got up in seconds and staggered after him, kicking him onto his back. He pointed Snœr'ónd at him, touching the point to his throat.

Galbatorix, his breathing harsh and pained, glared up at him. 'Finish it, you coward,' he snarled.

But Vrael did not strike. He gripped the sword more tightly, balancing himself for one last thrust, and then stopped dead, looking up sharply at the sky. Thunder rumbled, and, mingled with it, came the roaring.

'What-?' Vrael began, and then they were there, dropping out of the sky, their scales gleaming in the grey light of dawn.

Dragons. Nine dragons, descending on the fort, mouths agape to breathe plumes of fire.

Galbatorix grabbed hold of the swordblade and wrenched it sideways as hard as he could, cutting his hands and his neck as he rolled himself away in the opposite direction. He regained his feet and kicked Vrael hard in the groin.

Vrael screamed and fell, and as the Forsworn descended on the fortress of Vroengard, Galbatorix stood over his former master, blood dripping from his hands. 'Now it ends, Vrael,' he said. 'Now it ends.'

He reached for Snœr'ónd's hilt. Too late. Another roaring sounded all around, and more dragons rose from the fort – Vrael's riders. They rushed to attack the Forsworn, and with them came another dragon – massive, white-scaled, ancient, bellowing.

Nöst smashed into the dragon roost, half-demolishing it. Broken stone showered down onto the fortress as the white dragon fought to disentangle himself, huge wings thrashing. One enormous forepaw lashed out. It hit Galbatorix in the stomach, and the next thing he knew he was falling, falling backward into space, screaming as the void swallowed him. As the wind rushed past him, he had just enough time for one last thought. The dream had come true. The nightmare was real.

In the cave, Tranah and Vander heard the sounds of the battle outside as it began. They looked up sharply from the fire, listening to the roars and the crashings.

Tranah grinned manically. 'They're here,' she said. 'It's started.'

Vander sighed and closed his eyes for a few moments. He opened them again, and joy showed in his face. 'Ymazu!' he exclaimed. 'I can hear her again! She's all right, she's been set free, she's coming here.'

Tranah reached out for Aedua. _'Aedua? Can you hear me?'_

After a few moments, the green dragon's response came back. _'Yes. I'm coming, Tran. I'm coming.'_

Tranah sent her an image of the cave. _'Can you find it?'_

'_Yes, yes, we know where it is. We're coming together.'_

Tranah and Vander waited tensely. By the fire, Morzan stirred and mumbled something in his sleep.

Tranah stood up and walked to the cave entrance, where water lapped at the rock. Shruikan had already left to join in the attack. Outside, the rising sun could be seen, casting dim light into the cave. And Tranah saw the shapes silhouetted against it, just visible above the water, coming toward her. Dragons, swimming.

Aedua rose out of the water, clawing his way up into the cave, water cascading off her bright green scales, her head already stretching out toward her. Tranah ran to her and wrapped her arms around her neck, holding her tightly. _'Aedua! Aedua! Oh gods, Aedua, I thought…'_

Aedua's scales were warm and alive against her skin. She nuzzled her back, her rich voice sounding in her head, full of love. _'Tranah. My Tranah.'_

Ymazu squeezed past him and scrambled toward Vander, ignoring the small space. He touched his forehead to hers, murmuring her name softly. _'Vander,'_ she said, again and again. _'Vander. My Vander. I thought you were dead, I thought…'_

'_I'm all right, Ymazu. I'm here. I'm here.'_

Ymazu chuckled, a rough, dragon chuckle. _'Never again,'_ she said. _'I'll never leave you again.'_

'_I wouldn't let you, Ymazu. Not for anything. Not for…'_ Vander broke off, blinking in confusion. 'What the-?'

Over by the cave entrance, Tranah gave a cry of delight. 'Oh my gods, I don't believe it! Vander, quick, out of the way!'

Vander flattened himself against the wall, and Ymazu reluctantly withdrew to make room. Vander, watching, laughed aloud in wonder. 'I don't believe it,' he said. 'I don't believe it!'

Over by the fire, Morzan stirred a little in his sleep. In spite of all the noise he was simply too exhausted to be woken up, and though his eyelids flickered at the sound of Tranah's shout he quickly slid back into a doze.

Something hit him in the chest. He groaned and tried to bat it away, but it hit him again. 'Stop it!' he moaned.

But the thing hit him again. _'Morzan? Morzan, you've got to get up! Please, get up!'_

Morzan's eyes opened, and he stared up at the thing hovering over him. Eyes. Two big golden eyes, set into something huge and hazy and red. 'What's… what's that?' he mumbled.

'_Morzan! You're alive!'_

Morzan's brain finally awoke from its stupor. _'Idün?'_

A weak, broken laugh sounded in his head. _'Yes, Morzan. It's me. It's Idün.'_

Morzan sat up, heart pounding. He was still in the cave, by the fire, and she was there with him, standing over him, her great eyes looking into his own, shining with tears. _'Morzan,'_ she said again. _'Thank gods. Thank gods.'_

Morzan reached out to touch her snout. 'But you're dead,' he whispered.

'_I thought you were dead,'_ said Idün. _'I thought I'd lost you. I couldn't find you in my mind. I'm so sorry, Morzan.'_

Morzan got to his feet. _'But… but how…? How did…?'_

'_They blocked our minds,'_ said Idün. _'Stopped our magic, stopped us from feeling each other. They did it before I woke up, and I didn't know. I woke up and couldn't feel you, and I thought… I thought…'_

As she raised her head, Morzan saw the deep scars that Saphira's claws had left in her neck. That was when he was sure. He threw himself at her, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her scales, and held onto her as if he would never let go. _'Idün! Oh gods, Idün! Idün!'_

Idün spread her wing around him, enveloping him in the soft red canopy of her wing membrane. _'Yes, Morzan,'_ she said. _'It's all right now. It's over. We're alive. We're safe.'_

Morzan finally let go of her. _'We can't stay here, Idün,'_ he said. _'We've got to get out of here and help the others. Galbatorix has gone after Vrael.'_

'_I know,'_ said Idün. _'But we can't interfere; it's his fight.'_

'_But Vroengard's our fight, Idün,'_ said Morzan. _'We're gonna waste that place. Throw it into the sea an' kill every one of those sons of whores.'_

Idün growled. _'Yes. We'll make them pay, Morzan. They'll pay with their lives.'_

Morzan found Zar'roc, lying on the floor where he'd left it, and picked it up. He pointed it at Vander and Tranah. 'We're going,' he told them. 'Vroengard's ours.'

'Sir? Sir? _Sir!_'

Galbatorix groaned and opened his eyes. 'What…?' he mumbled.

'He's awake!' a voice yelled. 'He's all right!

A ragged cheer arose, and eager hands helped him into a sitting position. Galbatorix rose, coughing. His robe was soaked, and his hair stuck to his face, sticky with salt. His head hurt, and his throat felt like it was on fire. He reached out mentally for Shruikan. _'Shruikan, where are you?'_

'_I am here,'_ Shruikan replied. _'Are you hurt?'_

'_I think I'm all right…'_ Galbatorix blinked. His eyes stung, but he saw the faces of Tranah, Vander, Morzan, Kaelyn, Elric and Gern, all smiling at him.

'Thank gods, sir, you had us worried for a moment or two there,' said Vander. 'How d'you feel?'

Galbatorix coughed. 'Sore. What the hell happened?'

'You fell off the dragon roost,' said Tranah. 'Luckily, you landed in the sea. Shruikan dived in and fished you out.'

Memory flooded back. Galbatorix got up sharply, staggering a little when his head spun. 'Where's my sword?'

Kaelyn held it out for him. 'I found it in one of the courtyards, Master.'

Galbatorix took it. 'Where's Vrael?' he demanded.

'He ran away,' said Vander. 'Nöst carried him off toward the shore.'

'How long ago?'

'At least an hour, sir.'

'Dduwiau chyfrgolla 'i acha bric!' Galbatorix swore. 'What about the rest of them?'

'It's over, sir,' said Tranah. 'Vroengard's fallen. We killed two of the other riders – the rest of them fled. The others have gone after them.'

Galbatorix put White Violence back into its sheath. Shruikan was crouched a short distance away, and he ran to him and climbed onto his back. 'I'm going after Vrael,' he said. 'Morzan, Tranah, Vander – come with me.'

'But sir-!' Tranah began.

Galbatorix did not wait to reply. _'Let's go, Shruikan.'_

Shruikan tensed, and launched himself into the air with a nearly violent blow of his wings. He flew straight up into the now bright blue sky, and headed away from Vroengard and toward the mainland as fast as he could go. Galbatorix did up the legstraps in the air, and held on tightly. He could feel Shruikan's mind thrumming, its own exhaustion overridden by rage as the black dragon's fighting spirit rose up inside him, filling Galbatorix with its white-hot energy.

Galbatorix's eyes became blank, his face set into a mad, animal snarl. He said nothing to Shruikan. The two of them very rarely spoke anyway, and when their connection deepened, as it did now, both of them shed their thinking minds and let themselves become something else, something dark and primal and savage, something that did not understand fear, or tiredness, or mercy, something that only knew one thing: killing.

Galbatorix's mind filled with an image of Vrael, the white-haired elf's pale eyes staring at him, his cold, imperious voice in his ears. Shruikan sent back an image of Nöst, and the two melded together, becoming one being, something white and formless and hateful. Man and dragon let their minds become one, weaving their consciousness together and pointing it at the only goal they now had, which made them forget all else – to find their enemy and kill him.

Shruikan flew on, his golden eyes staring ahead, ignoring the strain in his wings. Below them the sea stretched out into the distance, the deep blue of it broken up by patches of white surf. The rain had stopped and the sky was clear, but they could see no sign of another pair of wings on the horizon, and they were still a long way from land.

Eventually, tiredness forced Shruikan to slow down. He settled into a steady glide, beating his wings from time to time to keep going, and his rage gradually simmered down.

Galbatorix felt the madness leave him, and sighed as the tension went out of his muscles. But he didn't consider going back for even a moment. Vrael was not going to get away from him. He would catch up with him before he had the chance to go to ground, and fight him again. And this time he would kill him.

'I'll find you,' he whispered, the wind snatching his words. 'I'll find you. I'll find you no matter where you go.'

There were shouts from behind him, and Aedua, Ymazu and Idün caught up with him, quickly falling into place behind Shruikan. He felt Tranah probing at his mind, trying to make contact with him. _'Hurry up,'_ he told her briefly, and shut her out.

Shruikan flew on, and the others had no choice but to follow. Galbatorix blocked them out of his mind. There was nothing they could say that would change his mind, and all they needed to know now was to keep on flying.

After more than two hours in the air, the mainland came in sight. By now all four dragons were flying low, their wings beating erratically. Galbatorix could sense Shruikan's own exhaustion, and reluctantly allowed the others to speak to him. _'We'll stop when we get to land,' _he told them. _'The dragons can rest awhile, and we'll ask someone if they saw where Vrael went.'_

'_Yes, sir,'_ said Tranah.

Shruikan finally alighted on a rocky crag overlooking the sea, and almost instantly slumped onto his belly. Galbatorix got out of the saddle, nearly falling over when he landed on the ground, and Shruikan laid his head on his foreclaws and promptly went to sleep. Aedua, Ymazu and Idün landed around him, and their riders dismounted and walked stiffly toward their leader.

Galbatorix stretched his legs to limber them up again. 'Let's go,' he said, and strode away inland. The cliff where they had landed merged into a stand of stunted trees, and he walked through these and followed a track down onto lower ground. A tiny fishing village had been built there – scarcely more than a cluster of wooden huts built in the shelter of a small bay. Its occupants had already fled indoors. Galbatorix went to the nearest hut and kicked the door open.

Inside, a family of four people huddled in a corner, staring at him in sheer terror.

Galbatorix pointed at them. 'Calm down,' he said curtly. 'Have any of you seen a dragon fly over? A white one, very large?'

The mother nodded mutely, her wide eyes fixed on him.

'Which way did it go?' said Galbatorix.

She didn't answer, but one of her children pointed Eastwards. 'That way, sir,' he said.

'Over the mountains?'

'Yes, sir.'

Galbatorix rummaged in his pocket and found a coin. He flicked it toward them. 'For your help,' he said, and left.

Outside, Tranah, Morzan and Vander were waiting. 'Any luck, sir?' said Morzan.

'He's gone East,' said Galbatorix. 'Over the Spine. He'll be heading for Ilirea. Come on, let's get going.'

He strode off without waiting for an answer, so fast they had to jog to keep up.

'Sir, we really need to rest,' said Tranah. 'Please, calm down. Vrael won't be travelling too fast; he's wounded, he would have had to stop and heal himself.'

'Then I'll catch him before he's done,' said Galbatorix, not slowing down. He found the beginning of the track leading up onto the cliffs, and started up it.

Halfway along, he glanced over his shoulder at the others. They were well behind him, and he sighed impatiently and carried on without waiting for them to catch up. He reached the edge of the copse, and peered down the track, muttering to himself when he failed to see them at all. He reached out mentally for them, and managed to contact Tranah. _'Tranah, what the hell's keeping you? Are you even on the damn track yet?'_

'_Yes, sir. We're just a little slow right now…'_

'_Well hurry up! We haven't got all bloody day!'_

'_Sir,'_ said Tranah, her voice taking on a hint of irritation. _'May I remind you that we're very tired right now? We've just fought a battle, for gods' sakes, and that was after being imprisoned for weeks. We're not all invincible like you are, all right?'_

Galbatorix started. In his mad rush to leave, he'd completely forgotten about the wellbeing of his friends. But when he thought of Vrael again, and the possibility that he could escape while he was standing there waiting for them, his heart hardened. _'Just keep going, Tranah,'_ he said. _'If you're not here very soon, I'm going to leave without you.'_

'_Really, sir?'_ Tranah said evenly.

'_Yes.'_

'_I'm sorry, sir,'_ said Tranah.

Seconds later, Galbatorix suddenly went rigid. He stood still for a moment, his eyes widening in shock, and then he crumpled.

When Tranah and the others finally reached the edge of the copse, they found him lying on his back, eyes closed, not moving at all.

Morzan ran to him. 'Sir! Sir!'

Galbatorix didn't move.

'Calm… down… Morzan,' Tranah gasped, leaning against a tree. 'He's fine.'

'What's wrong with him?' said Morzan.

'Well, he's a reckless idiot who was trying to get himself killed, for one thing,' said Tranah. 'And he's going to be very angry when he wakes up. Other than that, he's fine.'

'What d'you mean?' said Morzan.

Tranah came over and lifted Galbatorix by the shoulders. 'Here, will you carry him for me? He's not too heavy.'

Morzan slung Galbatorix over his shoulder and followed Tranah through the copse toward the cliff's edge, where the dragons waited. 'What've you done to him, Tran?'

'He let me into his mind,' said Tranah. 'I took advantage of it and put him to sleep. He won't wake up for a few hours, and that should give us some time to rest. And don't even think about telling me off. It's for his own good. Ours too.'

Morzan trudged along in silence for a while. 'Thanks, Tranah,' he said at length.

Vander caught up with them. 'Ooh, he's not going to be happy,' he said, chuckling. 'He's not going to be happy _at all.'_

'Well, that's too bad,' said Tranah. 'He needs to learn when to hold back. And _I_ need to sleep. We'll set out again in the morning.'

They reached the dragons, and Morzan put Galbatorix down beside the still-sleeping Shruikan. He stirred a little at this, but didn't wake up. He rolled onto his side and slept on, curled up against Shruikan's flank.

Tranah lay down beside Aedua, not seeming to notice the rough rock beneath her. 'Too damn tired to look for blankets,' she mumbled. 'Good night. Day. Morning. Whatever.'

Morzan smiled and went to Idün. She was still awake, but she said nothing, only smiled with her eyes and gently guided him to the spot between her forelegs. He huddled down there against her chest, and she laid her head across his lap, crooning deep in her throat. _'Sleep now, Morzan,'_ she murmured.

Morzan held onto her horn, feeling the roughness of it against his skin and the warmth of her scales on his chest, where the burns had caused him so much pain. _'I love you, Idün.'_

'_I know.'_


	53. The Hunt

Chapter Fifty-Three

The Hunt

Galbatorix slept deeply, and dreamed. A good dream. He saw Skade, as clearly as if she were there in the flesh, sitting by the stream and watching him inscrutably. He went to her, and she embraced him, her skin warm, her hair soft under his hands, her wild, fierce scent filling his nostrils. _My sweet one,_ she murmured. _My Galbatorix. _

He kissed her. _My Skade. My beautiful Skade._

She laughed at him. _Can you run, Galbatorix?_ she asked. _Can you catch me?_ And suddenly she was running away through the trees, her silver hair flying. He ran after her, and they wove here and there among the trees as fast as they could go, chasing each other, first one way and then another, never slowing, never tiring. He caught up with her by the still waters of a pool, and she pounced on him, knocking him down. They wrestled on the bank for a time, rolling over and shouting mock-threats until they relaxed and lay with their limbs entangled, breathless and giggling like children.

_I caught you!_ he crowed. _No-one escapes from me!_

_No,_ Skade breathed. _Not even you._

They kissed again, not gently, but fiercely, almost violently, her claws cutting into him until blood beaded on his skin. But it didn't hurt.

_Sing for me,_ Skade said.

_What song?_

_Any song._

So he sang, his voice rising into the sky, and though he knew he couldn't sing like the dark elf who had taught him the words, he didn't care at all. Because to Skade it was beautiful, just as she was to him.

She smiled and kissed him again. _The sweetest song I ever heard. What did it mean?_

_It meant… it meant I love you, Skade. More than anything. More than life. Will you ever come back to me, Skade? Will you remember me?_

_Always, Galbatorix._

After that he woke up. He fought to stay asleep, trying desperately to keep hold of the dream, but it slipped away from him, leaving nothing but a lingering sweetness and yearning behind. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. It was bright blue, threaded through with wispy clouds. Morning, or maybe afternoon. He felt warm and aching, but peaceful. He lay still and smiled in a gentle, loving way, a smile of the sort he had not worn in a very long time, one that made his normally cold and impassive eyes soften and brighten. If anyone had seen him then, they would no longer have feared him.

But the smile did not last long. He immersed himself in the dream for a time, savouring the memory of it, but then Shruikan stirred beside him and said; _'You've been asleep for a long time. What about Vrael?'_

Galbatorix sat up sharply, reaching for his sword. '_Dduwiau felltithia 'i!_ What in the blue hell-?'

Morzan, Tranah and Vander were nearby, sitting around a fire and sharing some food. Tranah looked up at him. 'Calm down, sir,' she said. 'We're nearly ready to go. Come over here and have something to eat; you need it.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'What the hell happened? I don't remember going to sleep. Why didn't you wake me up? We haven't got time to waste!'

'You needed to rest, sir,' said Tranah, an odd note of relief in her voice. 'You'd had a nasty fall, and you'd used up a lot of energy fighting Vrael. D'you want to fight him again when you're about to pass out from exhaustion? Or would you prefer to be properly awake so you can remember the look on his face?'

Galbatorix sat down by the fire, muttering irritably. 'How long did I sleep? Is it still today?'

'It's tomorrow, sir,' said Tranah. 'You slept all day and night. You needed it. So did we.'

'Have some cheese, sir,' Morzan added, offering him a piece he'd been toasting on the end of a dagger. 'It's not bad.'

Galbatorix took it with ill grace. 'If Vrael gets away because of this-,'

'He won't sir,' said Vander. 'Didn't you see him? He's hurt. Badly. He won't have the energy to fully heal himself, if I'm any judge. And Nöst probably took a few injuries when he smashed into the dragon roost like that. Besides, we already know where he'll be going – Ilirea.'

'Maybe not,' said Tranah. 'He's wounded, and Nöst will be able to feel it. Pain does things to a dragon's mind, makes him act irrationally – forget his thinking brain and be more like an animal. I've seen it before. He might well go somewhere else.'

'Like where?' said Morzan.

'Somewhere he feels safe,' said Tranah. 'Not a city, somewhere in the wild. Like how a wounded animal returns to its territory – that's the place where it feels safe.'

'But Nöst's a bonded dragon,' Morzan pointed out. 'He doesn't have a territory.'

'No, but he does have the place where he hatched,' said Tranah. 'Ellesméra. Every dragon remembers his hatching, and the place where it happened has a special place in his heart for the rest of his life.' She sounded as if she weren't speaking her own words. Aedua yawned behind her, and Galbatorix realised Tranah had probably been speaking for her.

'Interesting theory, Tranah,' said Vander. 'Sir, what do you think?'

Galbatorix thought about it. Would Nöst really go back to his birthplace, when he had lived in Ilirea all his life? And what about Vrael? Would he fight against it, or would he want to go there too? After all, Islanzadí would surely welcome him – it was said that they had been lovers in the past, and he probably had more family and friends there than he did in Ilirea. Perhaps, to him, Ellesméra was home. In fact he had most likely been born there, or somewhere else in Du Weldenvarden. Would he, like Nöst, feel the pull of home strongly enough to go back there, when Ilirea would be far safer?

'_The call of home is strong,'_ Shruikan murmured.

At the sound of the black dragon's voice, memories returned to Galbatorix. Memories of a time, so long ago as it seemed, when he had been in the North, lost somewhere in the middle of a barren snowfield, when a single day had robbed him of everything he cared about. First his people, and then Laela.

But he had not given up, and he had not stopped. Even though he had nothing left, even though his pain and loss had driven him to insanity, he did not lie down in the snow and die. He walked on, day after day, journeying beyond exhaustion, beyond pain and beyond hope, heading straight for the one place where he believed he could be safe – the place where he had been born. Teirm. He had never really wondered before why he had gone there. It was so far away, and he was alone and in no fit state for travelling. And he couldn't possibly be safe there. It was a major foothold for the riders, absolutely in their power, and sure enough, when he had finally reached it, he had been captured and delivered into the clutches of his enemies. If he had been thinking rationally at the time, he would have seen the pointlessness of going there, but he had not. In the midst of his madness, the lure of home had been the only thing left to drive him on.

'Sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix nodded. 'I agree with Tranah,' he said. 'He's gone to Ellesméra. Ilirea's where he lived, but Ellesméra is where his people live. What's left of them,' he added viciously.

'I don't know,' said Vander. 'Ilirea's as much of a home to him. He's lived there for more than two hundred years. And Saraswati's there, too.'

Galbatorix considered it. 'Yes… it could be either one, really. But I'm not going to risk splitting up. Here's my suggestion; we head East, toward Therinsford. We'll stop there and ask the locals if they've seen him pass. Nöst's too big to hide in the sky, no matter how high he flies. If they tell us anything useful, we can work from there. If need be, we'll go to Ellesméra first, and if he's not there… well, we'll decide what to do then.'

'Agreed,' said Tranah.

Galbatorix stood up. 'Let's go.'

It took them an hour to reach Therinsford. When they got there they found the very last thing they had expected to find – a large yellow dragon, crouched in the middle of the town. When it saw them coming, the dragon screeched and took to the air, flying away toward the Spine as fast as it could go. Aedua made a half-hearted attempt to go after it, but quickly gave up and landed on the outskirts of the town with Shruikan and the others. Galbatorix dismounted and led the way into Therinsford, saying; 'That dragon didn't have a rider. He's still in the city somewhere, and he'll have had his eyes on the sky.'

'Head for the governor's palace,' Tranah advised. 'It's not far from the centre.'

They jogged through the streets, swords drawn. Around them the local people ran to hide in buildings or alleys, knocking things over in their haste to get away.

'Well, it's better than having a bunch of snot-nosed babies thrust at you,' Galbatorix said dryly.

'Don't even remind me,' said Tranah. 'I must have blessed about a hundred of the things by now. They take it all so _seriously,_ too.'

'It only ever happened to me once,' said Galbatorix. 'I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I just made something up.'

Tranah nodded. 'That's what I always did too. Look – there it is.'

The palace loomed ahead of them – a large stone thing converted from an old fort. There were guards posted by the doors, but they fled as soon as they saw the four riders coming. Galbatorix made straight for the doors and wrenched them open. Almost instantly, someone ran out of the building and nearly slammed straight into him. Without thinking, he moved aside and punched them in the face with the back of his right hand, which was still grasping White Violence's hilt. The other person fell hard, and in a split second Galbatorix saw a yellow-bladed sword go clattering over the flagstones underfoot. With astonishing speed, he kicked the sprawled rider as they tried to rise, knocking them down again, and put the tip of his own sword to their throat.

The other rider, who he now saw was a woman, tried to scramble away from him. 'No!' she yelled. 'Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods-,'

Galbatorix planted his boot on her chest, pinning her down. 'Shut up,' he snapped.

Morzan caught up with him. 'Sir, stop!' he shouted. 'Don't-!'

The rider's eyes flicked toward him. 'Morzan!'

'Sir,' Morzan said urgently. 'Don't kill her. It's her. It's Lalla, the one who said-,'

Galbatorix looked down at the terrified rider. 'Morzan says you were sympathetic to him,' he said. 'Is that true?'

She nodded desperately. 'It's true,' she said, using the ancient language. 'I would have helped him if I could, but my oath wouldn't let me. I ran away to try and find you-,'

'And you came here. Why?'

'To hide,' said Lalla. 'I saw your friends fly over, and I thought… I was afraid they'd kill me as soon as they saw me. Please, sir, please don't kill me. I don't want to fight you, I just want to live.'

Galbatorix sighed and spread his hand over her. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, but he merely cast the spell over her to remove her oaths. When he had done he said; 'You're free now, Lalla. And I'm grateful to you for refusing to hurt my friend. I only kill those who attack me first, but you've shown you're ready to stop serving Vrael. Can I let you up now?'

Lalla looked up at him, breathing rapidly. 'Yes, sir,' she said, still using the ancient language. 'I won't attack you, I promise.'

Galbatorix removed his boot from her chest and helped her to her feet. She stood, dusting herself down, and Vander brought her her sword and silently handed it to her.

'Now,' said Galbatorix. 'I need your help and I haven't any time to waste. I'm looking for Vrael. Have you seen him?'

'Yes, sir,' said Lalla. 'He flew Eastwards, toward Marna. That was yesterday at around sundown.'

'How fast was he going?'

'Not very,' said Lalla. 'Nöst was flying low… he looked like he was wounded.'

'Good. Now, Lalla… are you ready to join us?'

'Do I have a choice?' said Lalla, with surprising boldness.

Galbatorix decided honesty would be the best policy. 'Not really. You're either one of us, or one of them. If you refuse to join either side, you'll probably be forced to leave the country. If you join us, you'll be treated with respect and your advice and suggestions will be listened to. We're equals and we don't have a hierarchy or a system of elders.'

'But you're the leader,' said Lalla.

'Yes, but I'm not an autocrat. Every one of my followers is also my friend. We're fighting for freedom, Lalla, and for justice. As a rider, it is your duty to fight for those things. The time of elvish supremacy is over. Now, humans are taking back what belongs to them. Will you remember what race you truly belong to, or have you become one of them?'

Lalla said nothing for a long time. She looked at Galbatorix, as if trying to discern some sign of deception in his face, and then she looked at his friends. Morzan winked at her and said; 'Go on, Lalla. We ain't evil. You deserve to be one of us.'

'All right,' Lalla said at last. 'I'll join you. What do I have to do?'

'Just take an oath of loyalty to me,' said Galbatorix. 'Swear to obey my orders and fight on my side, come what may, to keep our secrets and to never surrender or falter in the fight for justice.'

Lalla nodded. 'Then I will,' she said, and took the oath.

When she had done, she looked at him with a strangely drained expression, almost a weary one, and said; 'What do you want me to do, sir?'

'Come on,' said Galbatorix, and walked off. The others fell in behind him, and Lalla fell into step by his side, still looking at him expectantly. 'Call your dragon,' Galbatorix told her. 'Tell him to meet you at the edge of town, where Shruikan and the rest are. You and he will go to Vroengard. You'll find three riders there – Gern, Elric and Kaelyn. And some of the others may be there as well. Report to them; tell them I sent you and that I've gone to Marna to find Vrael, and after that to Ellesméra. As soon as the others return to Vroengard, they're to return to Gil'ead and take command of the army. Tell them to prepare the troops as thoroughly as possible. As soon as I return, we're going to march on Ilirea. If I'm not there within three weeks, tell them to leave without me. They're to take the prisoners with them. All of them. Keep them well-guarded and take every precaution to make sure they don't escape. Have you got all that?'

'Go to Vroengard, report to your followers there, tell them to go to Gil'ead, prepare the army, you've gone to Marna and then Ellesméra to catch Vrael, if you're not back in three weeks lead the army to Ilirea and bring the prisoners,' Lalla recited.

'Perfect. You'll make an excellent member of the Forsworn, Lalla.'

They had reached the spot where the dragons waited by now, and Galbatorix went straight to Shruikan and got into the saddle. He secured himself in place and waited while the others mounted up, leaving Lalla on the ground, still waiting for her own dragon to arrive.

Galbatorix looked down at her. 'Good luck, Lalla. I'll see you again. Be proud of yourself. You did the right thing.'

Shruikan took off with a weary flick of his wings, and Aedua, Ymazu and Idün followed, rising into the grey sky like a flock of birds.

'_Marna it is, then,'_ said Galbatorix. _'We can stop there and get some supplies before we head on to Ellesméra. We should be there in a few days; we can stop by at Gil'ead on the way past and make sure things are all right there.'_

'_Yes, sir,'_ said Morzan.

Below them, on the ground, Lalla saw her dragon, Somerscales, coming toward her. She landed a short distance away, and ran to meet her. _'Lalla! Are you all right?'_

Lalla embraced the yellow dragon. _'Yes,'_ she said. _'But we've… we're…'_

'_What? What is it?'_

'_I joined him,'_ said Lalla. _'He removed my oaths to Vrael and I took another one to serve him. We're Forsworn now, Somerscales.'_

Somerscales' eyes widened. _'What? Lalla, how could you?'_

'_I had no choice. He would have killed me. And I don't want to serve Vrael any more. Not after what he did.'_

'_But will the Betrayer be any better?'_

'_I don't know, Somerscales. He's going to attack Ilirea soon. He told me. We have to go back to Vroengard and deliver a message to the F- to the others.'_ She laughed a little madly. _'Our fellow oathbreakers.'_

Somerscales flicked her tail. _'Can we do this, Lalla? Can we be traitors?'_

'_We already were, Somerscales. And Vrael didn't want us. I could see it in his eyes. He didn't trust me, or you.'_

'_And can you trust the Great Betrayer?'_

Lalla sighed. _'I have to.' _

The journey toward Marna took three solid days of flying, and during that time they saw no other riders. They flew on past evening and into dark every night, and only went to ground very briefly in order to snatch a few hours of sleep before setting out again at dawn. They rarely spoke, reserving all their energy to simply keep going, on and on, over a landscape that never seemed to stop moving. Morzan, Tranah and Vander, their wounds barely healed from their time in Vroengard's dungeons, quickly became haggard and exhausted, often forced to sleep and eat in the saddle. None of them, however, even considered asking Galbatorix to slow down the pace. He showed absolutely no sign of tiredness – in fact, from time to time Tranah found herself wondering if he even slept at all. He was like one possessed; his eyes constantly fixed on the horizon, as if he were frightened it would disappear if he looked away. He virtually stopped speaking altogether, and in fact often looked as if he was unaware of their presence – his eyes would pass over them as if they were no more than rocks or trees, and he sometimes took several minutes to respond when someone spoke to him. He had even stopped combing his hair – which had until that point been a ritual carried out every morning and evening with the predictability of a sunrise or sunset. His determination to find and kill Vrael had become an obsessive drive that had now overridden all else, and it was so clear to his three companions that none of them could really make themselves feel much resentment over his behaviour. Galbatorix was not mad, as so many people believed, but he was driven in a way few other men were, and now that force in him was plain for all to see. His mind was not on Alagaësia now, or his friends, or the revolution: it was on Vrael, and Vrael alone. Vrael, the Lord of Riders. Vrael, who had taught him all he knew and made him a rider. Vrael, who had sentenced him to death for a crime he had not committed, and who had taken away everything he cared about. So much pain, so much death, so much misery. And Galbatorix believed that the blame for all of it rested on Vrael's shoulders. Knowing this, how could they possibly deny him the revenge he had been seeking for so long? They could not and did not. They recognised that, for now, their friend had become their leader, and simply followed him with all the loyalty he had won from them, ready to help him come what may.

They finally arrived at Gil'ead, and found it secure. Oromis and Carina were still safely held in the dungeon, and the army had camped itself around the walls. Morzan, Tranah and Vander retired to their quarters to sleep and have a wash and change of clothes, but Galbatorix barely paused to eat before he went to speak with Nar Kvarn and the other generals. Once he had heard the reports and issued some orders, he finally went to his own rooms and slept in the hammock he had left strung from the ceiling, so deeply that he did not dream.

He woke up at midday the next day, feeling as if he hadn't slept at all, and rather stiffly set about cleaning himself up. He found a spare robe in a cupboard and put it on, and then saw to his hair and beard. Once this was done, he went to wake the others.

'We're off,' he told them briefly, and left for the dragon roost. There he found Shruikan waiting for him, already saddled and bearing a pair of bags containing food and spare clothes.

'_We're leaving?'_

'_Yes.'_

Shruikan sighed. _'How far is it to Marna? I can't keep going like this much longer.'_

It wasn't like him to admit weakness. _'Not far,'_ Galbatorix reassured him. _'We'll be there by evening.'_

Morzan, Tranah and Vander arrived, dressed and with their swords on their backs.

'Sir, do we really have to leave so quickly?' said Tranah. 'I barely had time for breakfast.'

'No need to get discouraged when we're nearly there, Tranah,' said Galbatorix. 'Tell you what – we'll take it a little more slowly today, all right? And when we get to Marna, we'll have a good long rest there, how does that sound?'

Tranah groaned. 'All right.'

Not long later, they were in the air again. Galbatorix, lying flat against Shruikan's neck to avoid wind drag, mentally rehearsed all the destructive spells he knew. He listed them over and over again, and when he had done that he pictured the final fight with Vrael, planning which angle to attack him from, which sword-blows and spells to use, ways in which to avoid Nöst's talons if the white dragon tried to interfere, things he could say to taunt his enemy into making mistakes. And finally, he imagined what would happen when it was all over, when he stood over Vrael's dead body. He focused on it with all his might, willing it to become real in his mind. Maybe, if he could see it clearly enough there, he could make it come true in real life.

'_You should have killed him,'_ Shruikan interrupted.

'_What?'_

'_You want to see him dead. You could have seen it already. You should have killed him in his sleep, back at Vroengard.'_

Galbatorix shifted in the saddle. _'No. Not like that. It would have been too easy. I want to kill him face to face. I want to look him in the eye when he dies. I want him to know it was me.'_

'_What does it matter? He would be dead either way. If you had done it, we would be celebrating at Vroengard right now, not rushing across the country like this. The war could have ended days ago.'_

'_I don't think the war will ever end, Shruikan. Even after Vrael is dead and Ilirea is ours. I don't even know what I'll do after then. I never thought about it. But fighting's all I know. What will I do when there's no-one left to fight?'_

'_There is always someone to fight,'_ said Shruikan. _'Always.'_

'_But will I want to fight them?'_

'_Yes, Galbatorix. You will. Do you know why I chose you? I could have left you that night. I could have left you to die. But I didn't. I chose to spend my life with you and let you share my strength. Do you know why?'_

'_No.'_

'_Because we are the same, you and I,'_ said Shruikan. _'I knew it then without knowing it. You are human, but your spirit is different. You are like a wild dragon. You are not afraid to fight like other humans, and you are not afraid of yourself. A wild dragon fights his enemies and does not rest until they are dead. And you… you are the same.'_

'_I didn't used to be.'_

'_Yes you did. But you didn't know it until later. You know what you are. The others don't see it, but I do. You're a warrior. A killer. It's written on your soul.'_

Galbatorix shivered. Destroyer… _'But I don't want to be that, Shruikan. I never did.'_

'_You don't have a choice. You can fight any battle and win, but you can't fight against yourself. If you let yourself become it completely, you can do anything.'_

'_And how do I do that?'_

Shruikan snorted a little jet of flame. _'You spared the elves. You should not have done that. You should have finished it. You should have killed them.'_

'_I couldn't do that, Shruikan. How could I? I'm not like them. What gives me the right to say whether a race lives or dies?'_

'_You have the power to do it. Therefore, you have the right. They were your enemies. Enemies must die.'_

Galbatorix stared blankly at the ground passing below them. _'No,'_ he said softly. _'No. I can't do that. I can't be like that. I'm not a destroyer, Shruikan. I'm not. If I did that, I wouldn't be human any more. I can't let that part of me die.'_

'_Why? What use is it?'_

'_How can you say that? I'm a _man,_ Shruikan, not a monster.'_

'_They say you are already.'_

'_What does that matter? Yes, I'm a killer. I admit that. And I probably always will be one. But that part of me is worthless. The part of me that spared the elves is the part I won't let go of. Not ever. Not for anything.'_

'_Sparing your enemies will never bring you anything except more pain,' _Shruikan told him, his voice deep and inevitable. _'One day you'll see that, Galbatorix.'_

Blank despair settled over Galbatorix's mind, and he sighed and sat listlessly in the saddle. He thought about Laela to try and cheer himself up, but he could barely remember what she had looked like any more. He tried to recall how her voice had sounded in his head. What had it been like? Deep? Light? Soft? He didn't know any more.

A lump formed in his throat. _I've lost you,_ he thought.

He did not share the thought with Shruikan. He knew the dragon wouldn't understand. He could still feel his presence in the back of his mind, and it made him feel tired and miserable. Laela had been more than just a steed to him. She had been his certainty, and his joy. And now she was gone, he knew there was no way he could ever find her again. No-one would ever fill the hole she had left in his heart. Not Skade, not Shruikan, not anyone. Skade had gone, and though Shruikan had taken Laela's place at his side he did not provide the feeling of comfort and security she had offered. All he understood was fighting and anger, and he neither knew nor understood kindness or compassion or other human things. Galbatorix wondered how much Shruikan had been influencing him over the last few years. It was certainly true that the dragon's ferocity would flow into him at moments of high emotion or danger, and he could control that, more or less, but what about other times?

It was a disquieting thought. He lingered on it for much of that day's flying, but didn't speak to Shruikan again. The black dragon made no attempt to converse. Evidently he didn't feel the need to say any more.

By the afternoon, Marna had come in sight. It was a small and half-ruined fortress built on a hilltop, with a small village built around it. Once the riders had used it as a stronghold, but a century or so ago it had fallen into disuse and since then had been governed by a string of minor nobles or disgraced riders, who had not committed crimes that were severe enough to merit death, but who had displeased their superiors enough to be sent to a place which everyone regarded as a dead end. Galbatorix had scarcely given it a thought so far, but it would serve as a good temporary stronghold along the way. The locals were hardly likely to raise any objections.

As they neared it, Morzan made mental contact. _'Idün says there's a dragon down there.'_

Galbatorix stared ahead, and thought he could see a vaguely dragonish shape perched on one of the fort's old towers. He mentally nudged Shruikan. _'What can you see?'_

Shruikan sent him an image of it. Sure enough, there was a dragon up ahead. Too small to be Nöst. _'Huh,'_ said Galbatorix. _'Must be one of their lot, hiding out.'_ He contacted the others. _'All right, it looks like we've got another rider to deal with. Just one this time. We'll go in quickly and knock out the dragon. It doesn't look too big, but we won't aim to kill it. We might be able to get some information, or maybe a new recruit.'_

'_Yes, sir.'_

The fort drew closer. Galbatorix could see the dragon now. It was only a little larger than Shruikan, and did not look particularly alert. An easy target.

Shruikan flew lower, readying himself. When he was directly above the other dragon, he folded his wings and dropped out of the sky, talons outstretched. Galbatorix held on tightly, bracing himself for the impact. The dragon below heard the rush of air and looked up. Galbatorix, plummeting toward the creature, saw it clearly just before they hit, and his heart leapt into his mouth.

The dragon reared up to defend itself, mouth opening to spit fire, but Shruikan was faster. His front paws smacked into the dragon's head, sending it flying, and a second later he landed on top of it, pinning it down with his claws. The dragon struggled feebly, evidently stunned by the blow, and Galbatorix undid the legstraps and dropped onto the stone. He stood still, swaying a little from his exhaustion, and stared blankly at the dragon. It managed to raise its head, and its sky-blue eyes met his for a moment.

And Galbatorix knew that dragon. Knew it all too well. _'Thrain.'_


	54. Old Wounds

Chapter Fifty-Four

Old Wounds

For a long moment, Galbatorix and Thrain simply stared at each other. Man and dragon remained motionless for a few seconds, and then Thrain suddenly roared and made a violent motion toward him, mouth agape. She spat a line of violet flame straight at him, and he narrowly avoided it, diving out of the way as Shruikan fought to subdue the suddenly mad purple dragon. Thrain struggled wildly, screeching and snarling, her claws tearing at Shruikan's black scales. Moments later the others arrived. Aedua and Ymazu landed on the outer walls, and Idün made straight for the roost to help Shruikan. The two dragons managed to subdue Thrain between them, and she finally subsided, breathing harshly, her eyes still fixed on Galbatorix.

Morzan dismounted and went to his friend's side. 'My gods,' he said. 'Is that really…?'

Galbatorix breathed in deeply. 'Yes,' he said. 'She's here. You stay here. I'm going to go and find her.'

Morzan looked troubled. 'Sir, d'you really think that's a good idea?'

'Don't hurt Thrain,' Galbatorix said briefly, and made for the trapdoor that led down into the fort.

The interior of the old building was almost completely deserted. He saw a few guards and servants here and there, all hurrying to get out of his way, but far fewer than a place this size would normally have. The rooms and corridors he passed through all had a run-down look about them – the banners on the walls were tattered and moth-eaten, the torch holders rusty and frequently empty. The floor was bare stone, and dust lay everywhere.

Galbatorix grabbed a fleeing servant. 'Where is the rider?' he demanded.

The woman looked at him with an expression of sheer terror. 'That way,' she whispered, pointing. 'Around the corner. In her bedchamber.'

'Thankyou.' Galbatorix let her go, and went on his way. He realised his heart was pounding, so hard it made him feel ill. _Flell._ He had almost completely forgotten about her. Over the last few years, whenever he went into battle, he had looked for a purple dragon flying among his enemies, but always in vain. He had been glad of that, but he had never expected this – that he would find Flell again, in a place like this, when so much had changed. He didn't know what he would do when he saw her. What would she do? Would she remember him?

As he strode along the cold, filthy corridor of the old fortress, he suddenly realised he was afraid.

The door to Flell's bedchamber appeared in front of him. He drew White Violence and put his free hand on the doorhandle. For a moment he paused, his stomach churning sickeningly, and then he pushed the door open and stepped into the room beyond.

The bedchamber was simply furnished. A narrow bed sat against one wall, and there was a desk near the door, beside a small wardrobe. The only decorations were a rug on the floor and a large blue-glass lantern hanging from the ceiling, giving off dim light.

A long rider's sword with a blade the colour of twilight hung over the bed, and beneath it was Flell. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, brown hair covering her face.

Galbatorix stepped forward. 'Flell,' he said softly.

Flell looked up, and the sight of her face sent ice into his chest. Her impish, once-lively features had become pale and drawn, her eyes big and staring. Her small hands were clasped over her stomach, the fingers twining and untwining in an endless clasping, twisting motion.

At the sight of her face, all of Galbatorix's buried anger and bitterness toward her disappeared. He moved closer to her, holding White Violence low by his side, the tip pointing at the floor. 'Flell,' he said again. 'It's me. It's Galbatorix.'

Flell stared at him. 'Galbatorix?' she whispered.

'Yes, Flell. I came back.'

Flell stood up and came toward him, stretching out a hand to touch his face. 'You're so thin,' she said.

To his surprise, Galbatorix found himself fighting back tears. 'I'm all right,' he said. 'I survived. Flell…'

Flell's big eyes stared into his, full of a terrible entreaty. 'Galbatorix,' she whispered again. 'Where is she, Galbatorix? Where is she?'

Galbatorix took her hand. 'I don't understand. Where's who?'

Flell's hand tightened in his. 'He took her away,' she said. 'Took her from me. Where is she, Galbatorix?'

'Flell, I don't know who you're talking about. Who is she? Who took her away?'

Flell seized hold of his shoulders, gripping them so hard her fingers bruised him. '_Where – is – our – daughter?_' she demanded. 'What did he do with her? Where is she? Where – is she?'

'Flell, she's dead,' said Galbatorix. 'She died when she was born.'

'No,' Flell rasped. 'No. Lies. She was alive. I saw her. I held her. She was-,' she started to sob. 'She was like you. Like you. Just like you. I saw her and she was you. You, staring at me. And then I went to sleep, and when I woke up she was gone, and they said Vrael took her, and I tried so hard to get her back, I fought with them, tried to get to him, tried to – fought to get to her. But she was gone and they sent me away. Give her back to me, Galbatorix, give her back, I want my baby, please…!'

Galbatorix's heart clenched. 'Flell, I didn't know. They told me she died. There was nothing I could have done to help you.'

'_LIAR!'_ Flell screamed. 'Liar! It's your fault! Your fault! You lied to me! You lied to everyone! You killed my baby, you killed – you killed-,' her voice broke.

Galbatorix took her in his arms. For a moment she tried to pull away, but then she subsided, sobbing into his robe. He held her tightly, tears wetting his face. 'Flell, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear I didn't. I loved you Flell. I fought so hard for you, but I couldn't help you. I couldn't help anyone. Not even Laela. She's dead, Flell. They killed her. Took her away from me. Took you away. Took everything. They took our daughter from us both.'

'I want her back,' Flell whispered. 'I want her here. Give her back to me, Galbatorix.'

'Flell, I can't.'

'You betrayed me,' said Flell.

'Flell, I-,'

He breathed in sharply. All the breath had suddenly gone out of his lungs, and he gasped for air, feeling as if something had hit him in the chest. Flell pulled away from him, her hand still raised.

Galbatorix took a few slow steps backward. He could feel something hot clinging to his skin. It was his robe. There was a wet patch on the front.

And then, from somewhere outside, he heard a dragon bellow. In his head, he heard Shruikan's voice. _'NO!'_

In the same instant, the pain finally hit him. He cried out, and from above Shruikan's howls reached through the solid stone, biting into his ears. Still standing, with White Violence clasped loosely in one hand, he stared blankly at the dagger embedded in his chest.

Then he looked at Flell. 'Flell, how could you?' he whispered.

She said nothing. She had subsided onto the bed, sobbing brokenly, her face turned away from him.

Galbatorix took hold of the dagger's hilt, and pulled hard. It would not come out. More blood bubbled up around the wound, and he bared his teeth and pulled harder. The hilt came away in his hand, and the blade, still inside him, shattered.

And Galbatorix screamed. He dropped White Violence, and with a cry that mingled agony with rage and horror, he hurled himself straight at Flell. She raised her arms in a vain attempt to shield herself, but he knocked her backward, hard against the wall. Flell's head hit the stone with a horrible crack, and she fell limply back onto the bed, her eyes staring at nothing. Her right hand opened, and something fell out onto the blankets. A tiny lock of black hair, bound up with thread.

For a moment Galbatorix stood over her, unmoving. He realised he could hear himself sobbing. Moving in a strange, mechanical way, he put his arms under Flell's body and lifted it off the bed, almost gently. Without pausing to retrieve his sword, he opened the door and carried her out.

The people who were still in the fort saw him pass, and they stopped, bewildered. A tall, black-clad man, walking slowly through the corridors, his head bowed, carrying the body of a woman in his arms. And, where he trod, he left a trail of blood.

Galbatorix did not stop until he had passed out of the fortress and into an open space where soldiers had once trained. He found the others waiting for him there. Thrain's body lay where it had fallen at the base of the dragon roost, and Shruikan, Aedua, Idün and Ymazu had gathered around it with their riders.

Morzan, Tranah and Vander came to meet him. He could hear their voices, asking what had happened and whether he was alright, but they seemed to be coming from a long way away. He walked past them, toward the place where Thrain lay, and put Flell's body beside that of her dragon, laying her gently with her arms folded on her chest. He bent to kiss her forehead, and then stepped away, spreading his right hand over them both.

He heard his own voice, coming to him over a great distance. 'Of earth born and in fire forged, by magic blessed and by cool water soothed, then to be blown away by a breeze in the night to a land of silver and bright flowers. May the gods receive the souls of Flell Surdaborn and Thrain Twilightscales, rider and dragon alike. May they look down from the stars and may their wisdom embrace us. This I ask in… in the names of the lost gods, by the sacred light of the moon. From this day… forth… we shall speak their names only in… in friendship… and let their misdeeds and mistakes… forgotten. Now let… speak… names… _Flell.'_

He cast the black fire over them, letting it hide the two bodies from view. Everything seemed to be going grey. He squinted at the fire, but it kept going in and out of focus.

He felt something touch his shoulder, and turned. Morzan, looking at him with concern. Galbatorix grabbed hold of the other rider's thick arm. 'Morzan,' he gasped, as his legs folded beneath him.. 'Help… me.'

Morzan caught him as he fell, wrapping one brawny arm around his chest to support him. As he did so, he felt a wetness on his skin, and saw the blood soaking through Galbatorix's robe.

'Oh gods – Vander! Vander, c'mere, quick!'

Vander came running, and Morzan laid Galbatorix down by the fire. He lay still, his face contorted with pain, hands grasping at nothing.

Vander peeled back his robe, and swore when he saw the ugly wound beneath.

'Oh, _shit,'_ said Morzan. 'Shit, shit, _shit_.'

'Oh no,' said Tranah. 'No!'

Vander probed carefully at the wound. '_Z'aarn nu bein xan!_ Oh no, oh no, oh no…'

'What is it, Vander?' said Tranah.

'He's been stabbed,' said Vander. 'The blade shattered. It's still in him. Morzan, get me my bag – fast!'

Morzan ran to get it. Vander opened it and brought out a leather pouch. Inside were a number of grim-looking instruments. He selected a pair of what looked like very thin-nosed pliers, and muttered a spell over it to sterilise it.

'Hold him down,' he told Tranah and Morzan. 'I have to get those bits of metal out of him.'

The two riders took hold of Galbatorix's shoulders, pinning him down. He didn't seem to be aware of what was going on; he stared blankly at the sky, evidently dazed from blood-loss. When Vander touched the forceps to the wound, however, he screamed and began to fight to get away from them. Morzan and Tranah had to hold him in place by force, and though he proved surprisingly strong he was unable to break free. Vander managed to get a grip on the first of the shards, and slowly pulled it out. Morzan shuddered when he saw how long it was, its inner edge jagged and coated with gore.

Vander carefully laid it aside, but as he lowered the forceps toward the wound for the second time, a roar came from behind them.

Shruikan. The black dragon rose onto his hind legs, bellowing, his mouth agape. Then, without warning, he charged straight at them. Aedua slammed into him, side-on, knocking him over, and Idün and Ymazu rushed to help her. They managed to pin Shruikan's head and wings, and he fought back ferociously, spitting fire at them, his jaws snapping for their throats. The three dragons were strong enough to overpower him, but even after they had him down he continued to fight back, straining with all his might to get at Galbatorix.

On the ground, Galbatorix's eyes snapped open. He wrenched his arms free and lurched upright with a sudden burst of strength. When Vander tried to stop him, he punched him in the jaw and began to try and get up. Morzan and Tranah grabbed him and hauled him back, and he went down striking out at them wildly, shouting; 'NO! No! Stop it! Stop it! _Shruikan!'_

Vander got up, wincing. 'Hold him still,' he said, and ran to retrieve his bag. He fumbled inside it for a moment, and hurried back to where Galbatorix lay, still struggling.

'Help me,' said Vander, unscrewing the lid from a small glass bottle. 'We have to make him drink this.'

It was one of the hardest and most unpleasant struggles any of them had ever endured. Working together, in spite of his screams and threats, they held Galbatorix down and forced him to drink the contents of the bottle. He tried to spit it out, but Vander held his mouth shut and pinched his nose until he finally swallowed.

'All right,' he panted afterwards. 'It's done. You can let go of him in a moment.'

He put the bottle back in his bag, and a few moments later Galbatorix suddenly went limp, his eyelids drooping. Tranah and Morzan cautiously let go of him, and this time he didn't move. His hands twitched a little, but his arms stayed by his sides. A few moments later, Shruikan too sagged to the ground, the alertness fading from his golden eyes. Aedua, Ymazu and Idün withdrew cautiously, and Shruikan made a feeble attempt to get up before he slumped onto his side. He raised his head a little, but it fell back onto the ground, and he whined softly, almost like a dog.

On the ground by the fire, Galbatorix's eyelids flickered a little, and he groaned.

'I'm sorry, sir,' said Vander. He picked up the forceps again, and set to work.

It was a long operation, and a bloody one. Galbatorix cried out as each metal shard was extracted from his wound, and made a few feeble attempts to push Vander away, but neither he nor Shruikan had the strength to resist any further.

Vander laid the pieces of the dagger's blade on the ground beside him, one by one, carefully arranging them back into something approaching their old shape, until he had nearly completed the the blade. He finally laid the forceps aside, and sighed.

Morzan looked at him. 'Is it done?'

Vander shook Galbatorix's shoulder. 'Sir,' he said. 'Sir? Can you hear me?'

Galbatorix blinked sleepily. 'Yes…'

'Sir, I did my best,' said Vander. 'I've taken most of the pieces out, but there's one left. The tip of the blade is still in there. It's lodged right next to your heart; if I take it out it'll probably kill you. I have to heal the wound soon before you bleed to death. What do you want me to do, sir?'

Galbatorix took in a deep, shuddering breath. 'Do it,' he said harshly.

'Yes, sir.'

Vander spread his hand over the wound. 'Waíse heill.'

The magic went to work. Galbatorix shuddered as the wound slowly started to close, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

Morzan took his hand. 'It's all right, sir,' he said. 'You're going to be okay.'

Vander sighed. 'It's done,' he said.

The wound had become a deep, puckered scar, the skin around it crusted with dried blood. Vander soaked a scrap of cloth in water and dabbed it clean.

'All right,' he said softly, pulling Galbatorix's robe closed again. 'I've done all I can.'

Galbatorix's hand moved in Morzan's, and his head turned toward him. 'Morzan…'

'What is it, sir?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix's voice was slurred, his eyes unfocused. 'If I die…'

'Stop that,' said Morzan. 'You're not gonna die.'

'If I die, burn me,' said Galbatorix. 'Burn my body. Say… words… the words. "Earth born, fire forged…" you know the… words?'

'Yes, sir, I know them.'

'Say them for me. Take… the ashes. To Teirm. To the vault. Leave them there. Don't… don't make a tomb. Don't put my name there. I don't… don't want people to know… where I am. Will you… Morzan?'

'I will, sir,' said Morzan.

Galbatorix's grip on Morzan's hand slackened, and he closed his eyes and became still.

'We'll let him sleep now,' Vander said softly. 'There's nothing more we can do but wait and see if he survives the night.'

'Someone oughta keep watch on him,' said Morzan.

They heard a scuffling sound behind them, and turned to look.

Shruikan had woken. The black dragon struggled back onto his claws and came toward them, his head drooping and his tail dragging behind him. Morzan, Tranah and Vander moved out of the way, and Shruikan lowered his snout to sniff at Galbatorix. He nudged him gently, and Galbatorix stirred slightly at his touch, but did not wake. Shruikan sighed, sending up a cloud of dust, and quietly lay down by his rider, encircling him with his forelegs and protectively spreading his wings over him. He looked briefly at the three riders, and then laid his head down close to Galbatorix and settled down to rest, his eyes fixed on him.

Vander quietly picked up his bag, and gestured at the others to follow him. They walked out of the courtyard, leaving Shruikan alone beside the remains of the black funeral fire. It had nearly burnt itself out by now, leaving the ashes to blow away in the wind, the flakes swirling in the air in an almost dancelike motion, like a flock of tiny dragons taking flight.

The three riders paused to reassure their dragons, and went inside, leaving them to settle down with their heads on their paws, none moving any closer, but all keeping their eyes on Shruikan. The wait began.

Vander, Tranah and Morzan didn't speak much that evening. They ate together in the dining hall, having been forced to prepare their own food after the last of the servants had fled, each one staring at the tabletop in gloomy silence.

'What do we do if he dies?' Tranah said eventually.

'He won't,' said Morzan.

'Yes… but what if he dies?' said Tranah. 'What do we do then?'

'The only thing we can do,' said Vander. 'We go back to Gil'ead and meet the others there, and we lead the attack on Ilirea.'

'But how?' said Tranah. 'What about Nar Kvarn? He swore loyalty to Galbatorix, not to us. What will he do if we come back to Gil'ead without him?'

Vander paused to think it over. 'We'll have to lie,' he said. 'We'll have to make something up – tell them he's gone ahead or that he'll meet us along the way or something. If people knew he was dead, they'd lose heart. A lot of them might go home.'

'Yes, well, that's the thing, isn't it?' said Tranah. 'It's not just the orders he gives, it's _him._ People don't follow his ideas, they follow him. It was the same for all of us.'

The others nodded, all knowing exactly what she meant.

'Damn her,' Morzan growled. 'Damn that woman. Wasn't she content to just destroy his life without killing him too? I used to like her myself, y'know. Would've gone after her too, but I knew she wouldn't bite. She only had eyes for him. She was just like that Kaelyn. Liked him for his looks and that was it.'

'And he got her pregnant,' said Tranah.

Morzan nodded. 'Yeah. They was lovers while they were bein' trained, or so I figure. Then when she told him he'd knocked her up, he told her the truth about himself. An' then she went and ratted him out to the elders – made up some lie about him raping her to save her own hide, and they bought it. Sentenced him to death without even giving him a proper trial.'

Tranah nodded grimly. 'The perfect excuse. They gave him the death sentence as fast as they could, for a crime that normally doesn't warrant that punishment, so no-one would find out they'd found a half-breed in their own ranks. As soon as he was dead they could send Flell into exile and pretend it never happened. Of course, they'd forgotten he still had friends, eh, Morzan?'

Morzan smiled slightly. 'That's right. I got him out of there. Me an'…' he fell silent.

'What happened to the child?' said Vander.

'Born dead, from what I heard,' said Morzan.

'Nothing but misery all around,' said Tranah, sighing.

Morzan downed his cup of wine and poured himself another. 'I tellyer, I don't trust women any more. They're nothing but bloody trouble. I had a fling with a girl in Vroengard when I was bein' trained, an' then I walked in on her kissing bloody Brom. Brom, for gods' sakes! Man was built like a bloody scarecrow, I tellyer. Not an ounce of meat on him anywhere. I always used t'…' he broke off suddenly, scowling, and swallowed the second cup of wine in one mouthful.

He reached for the jug again, but Tranah caught his arm. 'I think you've had enough.'

Morzan wrenched his arm free. 'Keep yeh damn nose out of my business, woman,' he snapped, and left the room, taking the jug with him.

Tranah watched him go, and shook her head. 'Honestly, that man's impossible.'

'He's had a rough time,' said Vander. 'We all have.'

'Yes…' said Tranah. 'That was a good job you did out there, by the way. I've never seen a healer with hands as steady as yours.'

Vander laughed softly. 'I'll never be as good as I used to be,' he said, unconsciously clasping his hands together over his chest. 'I've got crooked fingers now. They just don't work as they used to, and they never will again.'

Tranah looked at his hands. 'I heard you,' she said in a low voice. 'I heard you in there, when they did it. What does "Xanthius" mean?'

'It's "Xanathus",' said Vander. 'The chief god of my father's people. The sky god, who rode a plains dragon into battle to defend his tribe. I don't really believe in him. But in there…'

Tranah nodded. 'In there, you hold onto anything you've got.'

'Yes…'

Tranah took his hand. 'You were brave,' she said. 'You coped far better than I did. I thought… I thought about giving up. Giving them what they wanted. And when I saw that I couldn't do that, I thought about killing myself. But you… you're much stronger than you look, Vander.'

Vander stared at their clasped hands. 'I'm not,' he said. 'I'm weak. I've always been weak. I gave my soul to the elders out of cowardice, and I spent fifty-seven years of my life doing their bidding because I did not have the courage to resist. I even went against Ymazu to do it, because I was afraid. And I broke my vows out of fear as well, at least to begin with. When Galbatorix offered to let me join the Forsworn, I thought he would kill me if I said no.'

'He wouldn't have,' said Tranah.

'Would he? I'm not so sure. He couldn't have just let me go, could he? Not when I knew where he was, and would go back to fight for his enemies. But later on I was glad I'd said yes. When I finally stopped being afraid and saw the need to fight back.'

'And that's all of us, isn't it?' said Tranah, letting go of his hand. 'I joined him – Strein and I both did – because we knew we'd die if we didn't. Not because he would kill us, but because something else would. We were already disgraced, and riders like that, who fall out of favour, get sent to dangerous places to do things other riders don't want to risk. Sooner or later we would have been killed. The elders couldn't execute us, but they could still send us to our deaths. And even if that didn't happen, I couldn't bear to be separated from Strein. I probably would have killed myself in the end, if I hadn't finally found a way to escape from them. We went to him on a mad impulse, almost. We didn't know if he'd accept us – as far as we'd heard, he was a lunatic and a murderer, and those don't make good leaders, do they? But then we started to hear about the things he'd done, and how another rider had joined him, and we saw things differently. And then something else happened.'

'What?' said Vander.

'I went to Teirm,' said Tranah. 'Just a short visit, to check up on things. And while I was there I found something. In a cell in the dungeons, the one where he'd been kept prisoner. There was a letter on the floor. I took it and read it. It was from him.'

'What did it say?' said Vander.

'He'd written it to someone he loved,' said Tranah. 'The name was blotted out. He'd written it to say goodbye to her before he was executed. And I read it, and saw…'

'Saw what?'

'In that letter I saw the same kind of love I felt toward Strein, and it was honest and pure, and beautiful,' Tranah said simply. 'I compared it to some other documents in the castle which he'd written, and the handwriting matched. That was when I knew he wasn't mad, and that he understood what it was like to miss someone as deeply as I missed Strein. And right there and then I sent a message to her, telling her to come and meet me somewhere out in the wilderness. We found each other, and I talked to her, and we went to find Galbatorix together. And we found him. Morzan too.'

'You were the first, after him,' said Vander. 'The first to break free. You showed us we didn't have to keep hiding the truth from ourselves. Galbatorix rebelled because he had to, but you chose to do it.'

Tranah shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'We didn't choose. We were chosen.'


	55. The Return

Chapter Fifty-Five

The Return

In spite of his anxiety when he went to bed that night, Vander fell asleep very quickly. So exhausted from the strain of the last few weeks that he didn't even dream, he slept through the night and did not wake up until well after sunrise the next day.

He woke up feeling much better, but his stomach lurched when he remembered the events of the previous day. He got up and practically ran to the window. The sun was already high in the sky – it would be noon in a few hours. Cursing, Vander pulled on his clothes as fast as he could and left the room, pausing to grab his sword on the way out. Full of a strange feeling of inevitability, he headed for the dining hall in the hopes of finding the others.

When he entered, he saw them sitting at the table, and Galbatorix was with them. He was sitting hunched in a chair and very slowly eating a bowl of soup, wincing each time he lifted his arm. His face was pale and his eyes darkened, but other than that he looked well enough.

Relief flooded into Vander's chest. He sighed and sat down on the other side of the table. 'Good morning, sir. How do you feel?'

Galbatorix glanced up at him, and though he said nothing his eyes showed the hint of a smile before he returned to his food.

'Told you he'd be all right,' said Morzan, from his seat beside his leader. He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on the previous night, and his face was pale and drawn with exhaustion, but he grinned anyway, showing a couple of gaps in his teeth from his time at Vroengard.

'Morning, Vander,' said Tranah. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Very well, thankyou,' said Vander. 'Is there any more of that soup?'

Tranah nodded toward an iron pot resting on the table to her left. 'It's not very good, but there's plenty of vegetables and things in it. I made it myself.'

Vander found a bowl and helped himself to a few ladles. 'So,' he said, picking up a spoon. 'What happened?'

'Not much, really,' said Tranah. 'We went to check on him an hour or so ago, but Shruikan wouldn't let us near him. In the end he woke up on his own and came inside. Looks like you did your job, Vander.'

Vander smiled slightly. 'So how do you feel, sir?' he asked. 'How much pain is there?'

Galbatorix glanced up at him and shook his head once, silently.

'He hasn't said anything all morning,' said Morzan. He hesitated. 'There ain't… there isn't something wrong with his voice, is there?'

'There shouldn't be,' said Vander, frowning. 'The throat is the seat of the voice, not the chest. I'd advise to just leave him alone, and he'll talk when he's ready.'

He stopped and stared at the window as a mournful howl drifted up from outside.

'Shruikan,' said Tranah. 'He keeps on doing that. It's making Aedua nervous.'

Vander shrugged and settled down to eat. The soup was lukewarm and oversalted, but compared to the travel rations he'd lived on for the last few weeks it tasted delicious. Tranah passed him some bread to clean the bowl with, and when he'd finished he sat back and sighed. 'Ah… that was good. Thankyou, Tranah.'

'Don't mention it.' Tranah glanced at Galbatorix. 'I suppose we should just stay here awhile, until he's recovered.'

Galbatorix had evidently done eating, for he put down his spoon and pushed the bowl away.

'More, sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix shook his head and stood up. He stumbled a little, and Morzan helped to steady him, saying, 'Careful, there, sir.'

Galbatorix inclined his head toward him and walked out of the room, moving slowly and carefully, his shoulders hunched and head bowed.

Morzan watched him go. 'I've never seen him look like that,' he said. 'Not even after what happened at Orthíad when he got poisoned. Not even in Teirm when he was gonna be hanged. Not even when he was going to Gil'ead to save Kaelyn. I don't like it.'

'He's mourning for Flell,' said Tranah. 'That's all.'

Morzan choked on the mug of water he was drinking. 'What? _Mourning?_ For that cursed slut?'

Tranah shrugged. 'People's minds work in strange ways. I wouldn't be surprised if he still felt something for her. Anyway, I suggest just leaving him alone.' She yawned. 'In the meantime, I think I'll go and practise some swordplay, get my hand in again. Care to join me?'

'I'll come,' said Morzan.

'I've got to fix Ymazu's saddle,' said Vander. 'I'll see you two later.'

They left the dining hall.

None of them saw Galbatorix again that day. They spent the rest of the morning carrying out various sundry tasks and generally taking it easy, all glad to finally have some time to themselves after so much recent strain. Vander repaired Ymazu's saddle and saw to her talons, and then spent an hour sorting through his belongings, sewing up holes in his clothes and reordering everything, making sure nothing had been lost or damaged during the journey. After that he slept for a while and then went to the kitchens to find something to eat. He eventually realised that he was enjoying himself. It seemed like an eternity since he had last had time to waste like this, and he relished it now.

That afternoon he headed for the dining hall again, expecting to find the others there. But when he opened the door he found Morzan and Tranah absent.

Inside was Galbatorix, all alone. He'd lit the torches on the walls, and the remains of some food were lying on the table. Beside that was a sword with a purple blade and a silver hilt.

Galbatorix was standing up by the wall, holding White Violence. Evidently unaware of Vander's presence, he took up a fighting stance and raised the sword over his head, baring his teeth at the pain this caused him. He stood still for a few moments, and then made a series of thrusts and blows at the air, his motions fast and graceful. He turned sharply and continued to fight an imaginary foe, scowling in concentration all the while – an oddly but endearingly childlike expression.

Vander watched him quietly, with the strange feeling that he was somehow prying into something he wasn't supposed to see. He thought of leaving, but something made him stay where he was.

Galbatorix continued to practise with White Violence for another minute or so, but finally laid the weapon aside and sat down on a chair, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. He stared at the violet sword on the table, delicately running his fingers over the hilt and blade. His expression was unreadable. Was there sorrow there? Guilt? Anger? Vander wasn't sure. Galbatorix sighed and buried his face in his hands, and Vander left as quietly as he could. For some reason what he had seen left an ominous feeling in his stomach, and the sense of foreboding lasted until evening, when he, Morzan and Tranah made an impromptu meal for themselves and took it up to the dining hall to eat it.

Galbatorix had left by then, but he returned not long later, looking slightly better than before, and accepted a plate of food, which he ate in silence.

When Vander had finished eating, he poured himself another cup of wine and turned to Tranah. 'How much longer d'you think we should stay here, Tranah?'

'Two days, at least,' said Tranah. 'I'd prefer a week, myself.'

'No.'

Everyone looked at Galbatorix.

'What, sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix had looked up from his food. 'No,' he said again. His voice was low and hoarse. 'We're leaving,' he said. 'Tomorrow. Early.'

'I really don't think that's a good idea, sir,' said Tranah.

Galbatorix shook his head. 'We go,' he said again.

'To Ellesméra?'

'No. Gil'ead. It's time.'

After that he fell silent again, apparently exhausted by the effort, and ignored any arguments the other three put forward.

'Well, at least you haven't forgotten how to talk,' Tranah said eventually. 'So we're going to attack Ilirea?'

Galbatorix nodded grimly.

'I'm with you, sir,' said Morzan.

'We all are,' said Vander. 'Even if…' he trailed off awkwardly, and looked away. He had been going to say that he had doubts about whether Galbatorix would be strong enough to lead the assault on Ilirea so soon, but he realised that he wasn't likely to be listened to if he did. He sighed and took a mouthful of wine instead.

'We'll probably have to wait until the others get there,' Tranah added. 'I wouldn't be surprised if some of 'em are still off chasing those cowards from Vroengard. Wait a moment… Durza's still at Gil'ead, isn't he?'

'Yes, I saw him before we left,' said Vander.

'I'll contact him, then,' said Tranah. She picked up her cup of wine and looked at the contents. She shrugged. 'It'll do. _Draumr kópa_.'

A few moments later, faint light glowed out of the cup. Tranah peered at it for a few moments. 'Ah, there you are,' she said at length. 'How are things in Gil'ead?'

She listened to the reply, which was too faint for the others to hear, and nodded.

'Good, good. We're in Marna. We haven't found Vrael. We had some trouble yesterday. Galbatorix got hurt. Yes, he's fine. He'll recover. Listen, we're coming back to Gil'ead. We're leaving tomorrow. We should be there by the Day of the Fifth Hatching if everything goes well. How many of the others are there? Really? _How_ many? Are you joking? Yes, yes, I understand. Well, tell Roland to start preparing the troops. As soon as we get back, we're going to march on Ilirea. All of us. No, Galbatorix has made his mind up. Yes, I told him that. Nevertheless. All right, I'll do that. See you in a few days.'

The glow faded, and Tranah downed the contents of the cup. She shivered. 'Oooh, that tingled. I didn't know you could _taste_ magic like that. Huh. All right, so Durza says all is well. Everyone except Orwyne and Ana are back at Gil'ead, and Orwyne contacted him a few days ago to say she's on her way and Ana's with her.'

'How did they go with the chase?' said Morzan. Beside him, Galbatorix listened intently.

'Very well indeed,' said Tranah. 'Two dead, and five others taken prisoner.'

'_Five_ of them?' said Vander.

'Yes. They ran into some others along the way. They've been brought back to Gil'ead and locked up.'

'How did they managed to catch that many riders?' said Vander.

'Durza says most of 'em just surrendered. In fact, two of them came to Gil'ead and gave themselves up. They're all up. No fight left in 'em now. They've realised they're beaten.'

'What in the world are we going to do with them all?' said Morzan.

Tranah shrugged. 'Beats me. Anyway, the army's running a bit low on supplies, but other than that they're doing well. Roland's been keeping them in line, with some help from Durza and the rest. They're getting a tad restless, so it probably would be a good thing if we went back now and let Galbatorix take command again.'

'What about Vrael?' said Vander.

'Oh, he'll get what's coming to him in the end,' said Tranah. 'He can't hide forever. Especially not from you,' she added to Galbatorix.

He nodded grimly and stood up. 'At dawn,' he said, and left.

Next morning, Vander, Morzan and Tranah rose at dawn. They packed up their belongings and headed straight for the courtyard where the dragons waited.

Galbatorix was already there, strapping on Shruikan's saddle. Normally the black dragon disliked this and would shift and growl irritably, but now he stood still, head drooping. Galbatorix too seemed subdued. He moved slowly and deliberately, with none of his normal energy. But he was dressed in a new robe and his hair was neatly combed as always, and he secured his bags and climbed into the saddle without needing any help.

He nodded curtly to the others, and Shruikan flew up to the dragon roost and waited there until they had saddled up. Once they were ready he took off, and they followed.

Shruikan flew low and wearily, so slowly that Aedua, Ymazu and Idün had no trouble at all keeping up with him and in fact had to hang back to avoid overtaking him. His pace did not pick up at all for the rest of the day, and for the four days it took to get back to Gil'ead he flew like a dragon at the end of his strength.

Galbatorix was the same. He said virtually nothing at all, to anyone. When they stopped each night, he sat by the fire and stared at nothing, wrapped in a cloud of depression that seemed to hover over him like a curse, dampening all their spirits. He scarcely ate, and slept like a dead man, sometimes muttering to himself when he dreamed. None of them had ever seen him so miserable before. Where had his spirit gone? He had turned into a walking corpse, dead-eyed, silent and cold, and nothing they said or did seemed to make any difference. They could only keep watch over him and hope that he would eventually snap out of it.

When they finally arrived at Gil'ead, Roland and Orwyne were waiting for them on the dragon roost. Aedua, Idün and Ymazu circled overhead and let Shruikan land first, which he did clumsily, his claws scrabbling at the stone.

Galbatorix dismounted and stood by the black dragon's shoulder, saying nothing.

Roland came toward him and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Damn good to see you again in one piece, sir! You're a little later than we expected – how was the journey?'

Galbatorix said nothing.

'Sir?' said Roland, suddenly concerned. 'Is something the matter?'

Galbatorix looked up at him. 'I'm well enough, Roland,' he said quietly. 'Well enough. How are you?'

'On excellent form, thankyou, sir,' said Roland. 'And as you can see, Orwyne has returned to us. Ana has done the same.'

'How are you, sir?' said Orwyne. 'We heard you were wounded at Marna – what happened?'

'I don't want to talk about it,' said Galbatorix. 'Orwyne… is the army ready? Are all the Forsworn here?'

'Yes, sir,' said Orwyne. 'Everyone is ready. The armies were prepared to leave as of yesterday. They've got some new banners made up, actually. We've got six riders in the dungeons, plus Oromis and Carina, which makes eight. We have their dragons too. See? There.' She pointed toward the army camped outside the walls. Just visible among them were several dragons, their wings and legs bound.

'Good,' said Galbatorix. 'We're going.'

'When, sir?'

'Immediately.'

Roland looked nonplussed. 'You cannot be serious, sir.'

'Aren't they ready to go?' Galbatorix said, a hint of his old impatience showing in his voice again. 'Well then they'll go. Go and tell the others. Gather everyone in front of the castle. We… the Forsworn will stand on the walls. I will stand in front of the gate, and speak to them. When I have spoken, we will go.'

'Yes, sir,' said Roland.

'What about the prisoners, sir?' said Orwyne. 'I thought you would probably want to speak with them and see if any of them might be interested in joining us.'

'They come with us,' said Galbatorix. 'All of them. The dragons will walk with the army, the riders up the front. Plenty of guards. No risks. Gag them. Don't let them speak. Make them take oaths not to run away.'

'Yes, sir,' said Orwyne, and she and Roland left while Idün, Aedua and Ymazu came down to land.

Galbatorix did not pause to speak with them. He got back onto Shruikan's back and the pair of them flew down to land at the spot just outside the castle gates.

There Galbatorix dismounted and sat down cross-legged on the steps, White Violence lying across his lap. Shruikan crouched behind his rider, wings loosely folded on his back, and the two of them settled down to wait.

'_What are you going to tell them?'_ Shruikan asked.

'_What they need to hear.'_

'_And what do they need to hear?'_

'_That it's time to fight the last battle of this war,'_ said Galbatorix. _'And that they'll win it.'_

'_Is that all?'_

'_What more do they need?'_

Shruikan said nothing. He gently nudged Galbatorix's shoulder with his snout. _'What are we going to do, Galbatorix?'_

Galbatorix closed his eyes. _'I'm so sorry, Shruikan. I should have listened to you. I should have made myself be strong. This is all my fault.'_

'_I don't blame you,'_ Shruikan said softly. _'You loved her. I felt it in you.'_

'_No. I love Skade, not her. She was nothing to me. She betrayed me.'_

'_And you betrayed her.'_

Galbatorix laughed bitterly. _'Of course I did. I'm the Great Betrayer, Shruikan. Betrayal is all I know. Flell, the elders, my parents, my people, Laela. I even betrayed Skade. And now I've betrayed you.'_

'_You didn't betray me,'_ said Shruikan. _'You didn't betray Skade.'_

'_Why did it have to be like this?'_ said Galbatorix, almost plaintively. _'Why? So much suffering and death, when all we fought for is coming to an end?'_

Shruikan growled. _'If it must end,'_ he said. _'Then let it be a glorious end.'_

Galbatorix stood up. _'Yes. We must finish it. No matter what the cost.'_

Man and dragon stood together in silence, watching as the army slowly gathered. The generals, including Nar Kvarn, led them into the city and bought them to stand in front of the castle, rank upon rank stretching away into the distance, filling the city. Above, the Forsworn started to gather, the dragons seating themselves in a row on the castle wall behind their leader, like an honour guard, scales shining in the sun.

When Galbatorix judged that they were ready, he held White Violence in both hands, resting the tip on the ground, and muttered a spell that would magnify his voice. In front of him he could see the army, its banners rustling in the breeze. Each one was white, decorated with a simple black symbol – three spirals, joined at the centre.

He breathed in deeply, and began.

'My friends!' he cried, his voice carrying over the whole city, 'My followers! My warriors! Free people of Alagaësia! I, Galbatorix Traeganni-Taranisäii, have returned to Gil'ead, and I have brought you a message. That message is a simple one: it is time.'

The assembled troops in front of him stirred, some calling out his name.

'It is time!' he said again. 'Time to leave here and march to one last battle, time to take the fight to our enemies! We will leave Gil'ead and march on Ilirea, now, today, before the sun sets. We will find the last of the elves in their city and we will show them that we do not fear them any longer, whether they be riders or no. We will show them that we are not weak, that we have tired of their tyranny and their cruelty and have come to set ourselves free of them forever! We will kill the last of the riders who serve them, and once the last of the cursed council of elders is dead, Alagaësia will be free.' He paused, watching them all, and lowered his voice. 'We here are all different,' he said in sombre tones. 'We come from different cities, we have different languages and cultures. Many of us are human, but many of us are not. But no matter what our birth, no matter what our race, we have a common cause and a common enemy. Human, urgal, Kull, Ra'zac, Shade, dragon or rider… _we fight as one!'_

He raised White Violence over his head, and unleashed a quick burst of magic which made lightning flash over the blade, blinding everyone with white light. Simultaneously, Shruikan lifted his head to the sky and roared.

Up on the walls, the dragons of the Forsworn turned their snouts skywards and joined their voices with his, like a pack of giant wolves howling at the moon. Their bellows rose into the air, deep and powerful, the most primal of all battle-cries.

And, spread out through the city below, the army roared back. A hundred thousand voices answered the cry of the dragons. Weapons were smashed against shields or on the ground, adding a mass of metallic crashes and thumps, and in the midst of it all, Galbatorix could hear the words being repeated over and over again.

'_RIDER'S BANE, RIDER'S BANE, RIDER'S BANE!'_

He smiled sadly to himself. 'Yes,' he whispered, and put White Violence back into its sheath. He climbed onto Shruikan's back and strapped himself into place, and the black dragon took off, swooping low over the heads of the army before he shot straight up into the sky and away over the city. The others rose up from the castle walls in a mighty flock, each one a different colour, still roaring aloud, some spitting coloured flame into the air.

On the ground, the army formed up behind its generals and began to march, passing out of the city gates in a great flood, hundreds upon hundreds of men, urgals and Kull, marching together. Somewhere down there was Durza, and the two Lethrblaka flew just above him, carrying the two juvenile Ra'zac on their backs.

The march toward Ilirea began.


	56. The Last Battle

Chapter Fifty-Six

The Last Battle

The march to Ilirea took over three weeks. The army moved steadily, following the river, stopping every night with the prisoners closely guarded at the centre of their massive camp. Along the way they passed through several villages, which were systematically stripped of all their supplies and their occupants either killed or dragooned into the army. The Forsworn made a few attempts to stop this, but the army was simply too large to be easily disciplined, and they were already busy enough simply keeping it in line. They spent much of their time in the air, circling over the army and watching over it, or flying ahead to scout out the land and watch for any danger.

As for Galbatorix, he spent much of his time leading from the front, seated on Shruikan's back. The black dragon occasionally flew, but for the most part he stayed grounded, his slow pace matching that of the army's. The ordinary troops seemed to appreciate Galbatorix's presence on the ground with them – it was as if, by staying with them, he was silently telling him that he was their equal and that he cared about them and would be there beside them instead of setting himself apart as most leaders did. At sundown every evening, when they stopped for the night, he and the Forsworn would camp together, ringed by their dragons, but Galbatorix would allow anyone to visit it if they wanted to see or speak with him. He still said very little, but though his eyes were sad there was a certain air about him now – a loneliness and vulnerability that made others feel safe around him.

The Forsworn noticed it too. They, however, were not happy about it. They kept a close watch on their leader, constantly on the alert for any sign that something might be amiss, making sure he had plenty to eat and a good place to sleep. Few of them were willing to admit it out loud, but all of them were deeply afraid. In fact, after a while Tranah or Roland began taking turns to stay up all night and watch over him. Neither of them said anything, but their friends all knew about it.

One evening, in the middle of the second week of travelling, Kaelyn came back into the camp after flying over the area to make sure all was well, and found Galbatorix sitting by the fire on his own. He sat hugging his knees, staring into the black flames, White Violence lying close to his side, his expression distant.

Kaelyn sat down beside him. 'How are you, Master?'

Galbatorix blinked and glanced at her, and then looked away.

Kaelyn plucked up her courage and said; 'I know… I know you said not to talk to you unless it was important. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Are you?'

Galbatorix looked at her again, a little blankly, and then sighed. 'Kaelyn. Hello. Have you still got the eggs?'

'Yes, Master.' Kaelyn pulled her bag toward her and took out three bundles of cloth. She unwrapped them and carefully placed the eggs on the ground by the fire. Their shells gleamed brightly, one red, one blue and one green. Beautiful. She stroked them gently, her expression almost motherly. 'I've been checking on them,' she said. 'Strein taught me how to communicate with them in the mind. The red one's a male. So's the green. The blue one is female. I even found out their names.'

Galbatorix smiled with his eyes. 'What are they?'

Kaelyn touched the green egg. 'Navaras.' The red one. 'Thorn.' And the blue. 'And this one is Saphira.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'Saphira…'

'Do you know that name, Master?'

'That was the name of Brom's dragon,' said Galbatorix. 'Are you taking good care of them, Kaelyn?'

'Yes, Master. I never let them out of my sight.'

'Good. One day they will be the seeds of three new riders. The start of a new order.'

Morzan wandered up at this point. 'You're on patrol duty tonight,' he told Kaelyn, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to emphasise the point.

'But I was on last night!' said Kaelyn.

'Yeah, well, Gern ain't feelin' well. Get going.'

Kaelyn packed the eggs into her bag again and left, muttering resentfully.

'Good, that's gotten rid of her,' said Morzan. 'How're you doin', sir?'

'Fine,' Galbatorix said briefly.

'No pain or anything?' Morzan persisted.

'I'm fine, Morzan. Really.'

Morzan looked at him suspiciously. 'Well… you just tell me if there's anything up, okay?'

Galbatorix stared into the fire. 'I will.'

Morzan hesitated for a moment, and then sat down. 'Sir, what's wrong?' he said. 'I don't like it when people ask me too many questions and I wouldn't wanna do the same to you, but I'm… well, I'm worried about yeh. You've hardly said a word in days.'

Galbatorix said nothing.

'Tranah an' Roland have been watching you at night, you know,' said Morzan. 'They ain't said anything, but I know what they're thinkin'. They're scared you might run off again, or maybe even kill yourself. I told 'em it was a waste of time. You'd never do that.' He paused. '…would you?'

Galbatorix let out a short, dry laugh. 'No.'

'It's not Flell, is it?' said Morzan. 'You ain't… I mean… you can't be upset about that, can you, sir? She was worthless. Nothing but an empty-headed lying whore. She deserved what she got.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'But you do know it's true, don't you, sir?' said Morzan. 'I hate seeing you like this. It makes me scared. It's like you've died inside.'

Galbatorix's voice was hollow. 'Really, Morzan?'

'Yes. It's not right. She doesn't deserve to have you so upset about her, and anyway, she's dead and you're not. You can't just give up on us now, sir. Not after all we've been through together.'

Galbatorix looked up at last. 'How can I not feel anything for Flell?' he said. 'She was the mother of the only child I'll ever have. And I loved her.'

'There'll be others, sir,' said Morzan. 'You'll find someone else to love, an' you'll have kids.'

'I already found that someone,' said Galbatorix. 'And she's not here. But even if she ever comes back… no, I'll never be a father. I know it.'

'Galbatorix… you know she ain't gonna come back, don't you? You do know that, don't you?'

'She'll come back. She promised me she would. And if she doesn't, I'll wait the rest of my life for her.'

'Are you mad?' said Morzan. 'No-one can wait that long.'

Galbatorix laughed miserably. 'Oh, I think I can, Morzan. I think I can.'

'But you shouldn't,' said Morzan. 'It's not healthy. Don't pine away forever; find someone else. You shouldn't be on yer own for the rest of your life, it'll kill yeh.'

'No. I swore an oath.'

'So? You can break them if you want to.'

'Yes. But I won't break this one. Not even if the gods themselves asked me to.'

'You must really love that woman,' said Morzan.

'I do, Morzan. More than anything. I hope one day you find someone who'll be as special to you as she is to me. No-one should die without knowing what it feels like.'

'Who was she?' said Morzan. 'What was her name? I always wondered about it, ever since you wouldn't say.'

Galbatorix looked at the ground and said nothing.

'Oh, fine,' said Morzan. 'I'll leave yeh alone. But… cheer up, mate. We've got somethin' big ahead of us. Bigger than anything we've done before. An' we need you to be up an' ready for it when the time comes. You won't let us down, will yer?'

'No. I won't fail you again, I swear.'

'I trust you,' said Morzan.

'Morzan… I'm so sorry for what happened at Vroengard. It was all my fault, and I know there's nothing I can ever do to make it better. Can you forgive me?'

'I never blamed you in the first place, sir,' said Morzan. 'It was my fault. I let meself get caught and used as a hostage to make the others give up; if it weren't for me we could've gotten away, but I went an' nearly got myself and Idün killed, and Tranah an' Vander too. You know what I kept thinkin', down there in the dungeon? I kept wonderin' what I'd say if I ever saw you again, and if you'd forgive me. I kept being scared you'd send me into exile or something.'

Galbatorix stifled an incredulous laugh. 'You can't possibly mean that.'

'I do!' said Morzan. 'An' I thought… well, what would any of 'em want me for any more anyway? 'Cause I thought Idün was dead, see, an'… well, a rider without his dragon's useless. Oh. Dammit, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean it like that…'

'It's all right, I understand. But I wouldn't do that, Morzan, even if you _had_ lost Idün. You're my friend. I went into Vroengard alone to save you, after every single one of the Forsworn had begged me not to, and I would never turn my back on you, no matter what happened. Never.'

'I believe you, sir,' said Morzan.

Galbatorix winced. 'Thankyou, Morzan.'

Ana was the first to spot Ilirea in the distance. She flew back to Galbatorix with the news, her red dragon, Abern, landing beside Shruikan and falling into step with him.

'It's up ahead, sir,' said Ana. 'Abern saw it.'

'How far ahead were you?'

'Not too far. About as far as the army'll get by tonight. By then the others should see it too. I'd say we'll be there in another day or so.'

She and Galbatorix shared this news with the other Forsworn that evening, and the tension in the air rose almost immediately.

'We probably ought to begin discussing a plan of attack,' said Roland. 'Did you have anything in mind, sir?'

'Yes,' Galbatorix said immediately. He glanced around to make sure he had everyone's full attention, and went on, 'There shouldn't be too many riders there by now. The main threat will be from Saraswati and Yansan. Now… as soon as we know which tower they're in, Shruikan and I will attack there immediately. Roland, Tranah, Morzan, you'll come with me. Your job will be to protect me while I break into their minds. With any luck I'll disable them fairly quickly, and then we'll have them down. In the meantime… Orwyne, you, Gern and Vander will attack the other wall. Hit it with magic, fire, rocks… whatever you've got. Break it down and let the army in. The rest of you will attack any other riders who are in the city.'

'That sounds like a workable plan to me, sir,' said Roland. 'And I suggest that we – meaning we riders – fly ahead and attack before the army arrives. To allow more of an element of surprise. Perhaps one or two of us should remain behind to supervise the army.'

'I'll do that,' said Strein. 'Tuomas, you can help me.'

They talked on for another hour or so, refining and fine-tuning their plan of attack. Galbatorix finally returned to something resembling his old self, and was in the midst of the conversation, putting forward ideas and rejecting others, taking command once again. That made Morzan, Tranah and Roland cast some relieved glances at each other. It had taken a long time, but he was starting to come out of his depression. He would be all right eventually.

Sure enough, on the following day, though he remained untalkative, there was a new energy about him. He sat a little more upright on Shruikan's back, watching the landscape ahead and occasionally muttering to himself, evidently deep in thought. That evening he had plenty to say and new ideas and strategies to put forward and was even willing to tell a few stories about Laela.

By now the walls of Ilirea were in sight; a white smudge on the horizon, growing steadily closer, and although the mood around the campfire that night was cheerful and optimistic the members of the Forsworn could not help but stare toward it from time to time, their expressions nervous. Galbatorix, however, remained strangely calm.

Later, when the moon rose and the Forsworn had parted, Vander wandered out of the camp for some time alone. A short distance away, among the trees, he found Galbatorix sitting alone on a log. He was staring at the sky, where the almost-full moon glowed among the clouds, his hands clasped together, making a strange humming, droning sound in the back of his throat.

Vander watched him, wondering what he was doing. Thinking it rude to spy like this, he coughed politely. Galbatorix looked around sharply, then relaxed. 'Vander.'

Vander moved closer. 'What were you doing, sir?'

Galbatorix looked slightly embarrassed. 'Uh… you weren't supposed to see that.'

'It's all right, sir. I'm just curious. Were you working magic or something?'

'No. I was praying.'

'To the moon?'

'Yes. I was using a dark elvish _erfyniad_ – it's an invocation that asks the gods for victory and protection before a battle. I don't really… I don't think I really believe in the dark elvish gods, but I'm doing this for them, partly. I was thinking that if they were still alive they'd be here with us, so I thought maybe… you know, in their honour.'

'I understand,' said Vander. 'In fact…' he glanced over his shoulder. 'In fact, if you must know, last night I made a _narthis xaan­ _– it's a little effigy made out of dried grass. You make it to represent your enemy, then say a curse over it and burn it. Ymazu burned it for me. Just for good luck. Like my father's tribe used to do long ago. And I've seen Roland praying with his amulet. Tuomas too. He's converted. Become a Peaker.'

Galbatorix sighed. 'I suppose when you're staring death in the face, it's only natural to want to think there's something out there.'

Vander's dark-skinned face hardened into an unexpectedly fierce expression, one most unlike him. 'And it's natural to hope that there could be a hell for us to send them to as well.'

'I don't think so. Killing them should be enough for us. Leave the rest to the gods, or fate, or whatever decides these things. Although, after Vroengard…'

Vander was silent for a time. 'Sir, how are you? I mean, honestly, how are you? Be frank with me. You've been avoiding me for days, and I have to know.'

'What do you want to know, exactly?'

'I want to see the scar,' said Vander. 'So I can be sure it healed properly. At the very least, tell me if there's any pain. Anything at all.'

Galbatorix was silent for some time. 'No,' he said at last. 'There's no pain. It's fine.'

'Any swelling or discomfort? Weakness? Does your arm have its original strength?'

'Yes, Vander. I told you, it's fine.'

'If you don't mind me saying, sir, you've been looking rather subdued lately,' said Vander. 'I thought I noticed some faltering in your arm, and you're looking a little pale. Are you sure there's nothing to tell me?'

'Yes, Vander, I'm sure. I'm just under a lot of stress right now. All right?'

Vander's eyes narrowed. 'Let me see the wound. Please, sir. Just to be sure.'

Galbatorix pulled his robe more tightly over his chest. 'Not now, Vander. I've got things to think about.'

'Sir, I really think-,'

'Leave me.'

Galbatorix's eyes and voice had gone cold, and Vander saw he wasn't going to get anywhere with him tonight.

'All right, sir,' he said. 'Goodnight.'

'Sleep well,' Galbatorix told him briefly. 'At dawn, we ride.'

Dawn.

Once Vander had left, Galbatorix sighed and looked up at the moon again. 'Please gods,' he breathed. 'Grant me this one last victory. Let me finish what I started. Let me complete it.'

From somewhere away in the night, the mournful howling of a pack of wolves echoed toward the stars, like a dirge. Galbatorix listened, wondering briefly if this was some reply from the gods of the dark elves. From somewhere buried in his memory, he heard the lazy, drawling voice of Faegareth, the shapeshifter. _Do you know why the wolves howl, Great King? I do. They're calling out for something they lost._

_You mean they're calling for the dead?_ his own, much younger voice asked.

Faegareth's voice had a smirk in it. _No. They're calling for me. Only the bitches howl, you see._

Galbatorix smiled to himself. 'Did they ever find you again, Faegareth?' he murmured out loud.

But Faegareth was surely dead, his body lost out there in the snow so far away, mourned over by no-one, not even the wolves he had once run and hunted with. Even Menulis had had the funeral rites said for him, and his ashes had been given an honoured resting-place in Ilirea's catacombs, but what had the dark elves had? And Faegareth? Their ashes had been left in the snow and scattered to the wind as if they were no more than dirt. And when he himself died, his own remains would be buried without a marker or an effigy. He wanted that. What had he done to deserve a great tomb or a lavish funeral? He snarled silently to himself. What a savage irony it would be when he was laid to rest. The destroyer destroyed, the killer killed. No. He did not want to be honoured like that, and nor did he want anyone to know where he was buried. Plenty of people would hate him for what he had done, plenty of people still thought of him as no more than an insane murderer. If they knew where his tomb was, they would come and find it. They would spit on it, probably, or vandalise it. Probably they would dig up his remains and toss them into the sea or onto a rubbish heap. And even though by then there would be nothing left of him but anonymous ashes, the thought of that final indignity was unbearable. No. In death he would be allowed to rest in peace at last, and no-one would come to hurt him again. He promised himself that.

And tomorrow. Tomorrow it would be time to see Ilirea again, and this time he would not return to it alone. This time he would not be a fugitive. _'Tomorrow, it ends,'_ he said, to Shruikan. _'Tomorrow, Ilirea will burn, and so will everyone inside it.'_

'_Yes,'_ Shruikan growled. _'Tomorrow we will have our final revenge.'_

'_And after that… we can rest.'_

'_Yes. Forever.'_

Galbatorix sighed and bowed his head, suddenly fighting back tears. It was so close now. So very close. He knew he would not sleep tonight.

The sun rose the next day in the midst of a watery pink sunset. Its light, shining over the camp, showed men, urgals and dragons already stirring.

The Forsworn were already preparing; they rid themselves of all their unnecessary luggage and began armouring their dragons and themselves, talking among themselves as they worked and going over the plan of attack they had finally settled on. Galbatorix, meanwhile, had long since armoured Shruikan and donned a light breastplate over his usual robe, and had gone to talk with Durza. The Shade would be leading the attack on the ground with Nar Kvarn, and the Ra'zac would be helping him.

Durza, sleepless as always, had put on some armour to protect his vulnerable chest and was carrying a sword taken from the armoury in Gil'ead. 'I am prepared,' he told Galbatorix, on seeing him. 'You seem… unsettled, Lord Galbatorix.'

'I'm fine, Durza. The others and I are about to leave. We'll fly slowly and keep the army in sight. As soon as Ilirea's close enough, we'll go on ahead and attack it. You'll help Strein and Tuomas lead the ground assault. Attack at the main gates. As soon as the wall's broken down, charge in as fast as you can. Get as much of the army inside as quickly as possible, and go straight for the towers. The main assault should be at the Elders' Tower, the largest one. Break in and kill everyone you find inside. Even if they surrender.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Durza. 'I will not hold back.'

The two Lethrblaka were close by, with the young Ra'zac not far away. They were each about the size of a man, and equipped with a pair of massive leathery wings – hence their name, which meant, literally, "leather-flapper". Unlike the Ra'zac, the Lethrblaka were intelligent. Galbatorix addressed the female, she who had metamorphosed from the Ra'zac he had spared that day at Dras-Leona. 'Are you ready?' he asked.

The creature nodded its big beaked head. 'The ridersss ssshall feel our bite thiss day, my Lord.'

Galbatorix smiled grimly. 'Oh yes. I've no doubt they will. You and your mate will attack in the air. Circle around the edges of the city. If any of the riders try to escape, stop them. Go for the dragons' wings – take them down quickly. I don't want them to get away and remain a menace.'

'Yesss, my Lord,' said the other Lethrblaka, the male. 'The dragonsss ssshall be no challenge to usss.'

'We ssshall feassst on elf-flesssh today,' one of the Ra'zac added, its beak clicking greedily.

Galbatorix did not flinch at the foul stench that came from it. 'Yes, you shall. Today, there will be no mercy. In this battle, no-one will be spared. Everyone in that city will die.'

'There is no merit or wisdom in leaving your enemies alive,' said Durza. 'I see you have finally learned that lesson, my Lord.'

Galbatorix looked sharply at him. 'What do you mean by that, Durza?'

There was a strange, almost hungry look in the Shade's red eyes, but all he said was; 'I think you know, my Lord.'

Galbatorix glared at him for a few moments longer, and then turned on his heel and walked back to where the dragons waited, armoured, saddled and ready with their riders standing by.

'Ready to leave, sir,' said Tranah.

Galbatorix went to Shruikan's side, but then paused and went to Tranah instead. And, to her surprise, he put his arms around her and hugged her. 'Good luck, Tranah.'

'Good luck, sir,' said Tranah, returning the hug.

Galbatorix embraced each of the others in turn, and they too said their goodbyes and best wishes to each other, each one suddenly and coldly aware that they might not all survive the day. The dragons nuzzled at each other, growling and hissing softly. Even Shruikan joined in, his normal reserve disappearing in the solemnity of the moment.

Galbatorix sighed and climbed onto the black dragon's shoulders, securing himself in place. From there, he looked around at the others as they too mounted up. 'For justice,' he said, and braced himself as Shruikan took off.

Aedua, Leahdorus, Sartago, Calanon, Keth, Idün, Ithír, Talziri, Ymazu, Somerscales, Sytha and Abern rose into the sky with the power and inevitability of a sunrise, their armour shining in the pale light of dawn. Talziri and Ithír remained hovering over the breaking camp as the rest flew away, and both dragons roared to say farewell to their friends and spur them on toward Ilirea and what awaited there. The others roared back, some flaming at the sky. Below, the army prepared to resume its march. Already banners were being raised and orders shouted. Soon they would be moving again.

In the air, Galbatorix shivered and pulled his robe over his legs to try and shield them from the wind. He had forgotten how cold it could be this early in the morning. Luckily, Shruikan's hot scales helped keep him warm. _'Are you ready, Shruikan?'_

'_Yes. Are you?'_

'_I've been ready for two years. I've been ready ever since the day Vrael and I saw each other in the elder's cave and I told him I would be back for my revenge on him.'_

'_Do you think he'll be in the city, then?'_

'_He has to be,'_ Galbatorix said softly. _'He _has_ to. I can't be cheated out of seeing him die. Not now.'_

'_You will,'_ said Shruikan. _'We both will.'_

The black dragon put his head down and flew on a little faster. Ilirea loomed in the distance, white-walled and elegant, like a huge crown carved from ivory. They would be there soon. Very soon.

They flew on for an hour or so, keeping their pace slow so that they would not lose sight of the army. It marched on steadily, led by Tuomas and Strein on the ground, the Lethrblaka circling overhead like a pair of vultures.

Ilirea drew ever closer. By midday they could see it clearly. The dark shapes of dragons were circling among the towers – at least four of them. Very soon they would be close enough to be spotted. Now, at last, Galbatorix reached out mentally to the Forsworn in the air. _'Now.'_

The dragons shot forward, bunched together in a tight flock with Shruikan at their head, his neck and tail stretched out flat like the shaft of an arrow. They flew straight for the city as fast as they could go, staying high to make themselves harder to see. The ground rushed past below, faster and faster, and then the outer walls of the city passed beneath the dragons' dangling talons. In the same instant, they heard a roar from below them.

'NOW!' Galbatorix bellowed.

Shruikan folded his wings and dropped out of the sky like a swallow. The others did the same, falling alongside him, head-downward, their riders clinging on for dear life. The white towers of Ilirea rushed up to meet them, like massive spikes ready to impale them. The plummeting dragons peeled away at the last moment, spreading out over the city, each one intent on a different target.

Shruikan, however, did not. He continued his descent without making even a token attempt to steady himself, his eyes staring straight ahead, intent on his goal. Below him, a brown dragon nearly twice his size glanced up and twisted in the air, seeking to get out of the way. Shruikan angled himself toward him with an easy flick of one wing and, an instant later, he slammed into the back of the other dragon's neck. The impact was so powerful that it sent shockwaves right through Shruikan's body and into Galbatorix, making his teeth rattle. He had already clenched them in anticipation, but his entire body jerked backward violently, sending a blast of pain through his spine. The brown dragon, however, was far worse off. He screamed and dropped out of the sky, wings flailing desperately. Shruikan managed to extricate himself and reeled away upwards, his head still pointed downward to belch black and silver fire at his enemy.

The brown dragon hit the nearest tower with a horrible crunch of metal on stone. One of his wings hit it at an awkward angle, breaking the bone, and he let out an unearthly screech of agony and dug his claws into the white stone of the tower, trying desperately to keep himself from falling. His talons cut into the tower as if it were made out of cheese, and he slid down its smooth side, thrashing desperately, tearing huge chunks out of it as he went. On his back, his rider recovered himself and began to hurl magic at Galbatorix. He shielded himself and Shruikan as well as he could, and then sent a wall of force back, as hard and fast as he could. It hit the brown dragon in the head and then struck his rider, and his talons lost their grip on the tower, sending him hurtling toward the ground.

Shruikan did not pause to watch the impact. He turned toward the largest of the towers, the Elders Tower, and made for it as fast as he could, while all around the battle began.

There were six enemy riders in the air over Ilirea, many of them riding very large dragons. Gern, Kaelyn, Lalla, Ana, Elric and Vander were already locked in combat with them – Sartago had latched onto the neck of a blue dragon while Kaelyn threw magic at its rider and Leahdorus tore at its wings with her talons, intent on disabling it. The elves who still remained in the city had set up siege weapons on the outer walls, and Orwyne, Vander and Ana were attacking these, their dragons turning gracefully in the sky to avoid the missiles lobbed their way.

Aedua, Keth and Idün saw Shruikan and flew to his side as fast as they could, and he led the way toward the Elders Tower, dodging the riders who tried to get in their way. The others rushed in to clear the way for them, and the three dragons flew on.

Galbatorix made mental contact with Roland, Morzan and Tranah. _'All right,' _he told them. _'I can't see Saraswati or Yansan anywhere. They must still be in there. Stay close to me-,'_ and then, quite suddenly, he screamed.

Morzan, Roland and Tranah jerked in the saddle. Every single one of them cried out, and their dragons bucked in midair as Shruikan did.

In their heads, they could hear Galbatorix's mental voice. _'No! No! Not now! Please, gods, not-!'_

And all the while, the pain stabbed at their chests, deep and mortal and horrible. The four dragons started to weave in the sky, their sense of direction thrown into confusion, but then the pain abruptly stopped.

The dragons regrouped, all gasping from the shock along with their riders. _'What in the hell?'_ said Morzan. _'What in the hell?'_

He checked his chest, expecting to see an arrow poking out of it, but there was nothing there. There was no pain coming from Idün either.

Galbatorix's presence had vanished from his mind. He tried to contact him again, but found himself shut out. Bewildered, he tried to contact Tranah instead. She let him in, and he could feel her own confusion. _'Morzan? What happened? Are you all right?'_

'_Fine. Tran, what the hell's going on? Where did all that pain come from?'_

'_I don't know.'_

Morzan shut off contact with her and reached out for Roland. _'Are you hurt?'_ the old rider asked.

'_No, fine.'_

'_Oh dear gods,'_ said Roland. He shut off contact, and Keth surged forward.

They reached the entrance to the elders' cave almost simultaneously. Shruikan, apparently recovered from his sudden shock, rushed into the great space beyond, the sheer size of the opening making him look no bigger than a bat.

He landed on the floor just inside. Not gracefully. He was going too fast, and he hit the stone at an angle, front talons first. He nearly flipped over with the force of it, and skidded over the floor on his stomach, his claws scrabbling desperately for purchase. Keth, Idün and Aedua shot straight past him, ignoring his distress. They had something far more urgent to deal with: Saraswati and Yansan.

The two elders were both there, with their dragons, trying to strap on their saddles as fast as they could. Now, seeing the oncoming attackers, they abandoned what they were doing and rushed to defend themselves.

Morzan had prepared himself for this moment. In midair, he ripped off the leg-straps on his saddle and fell sideways off Idün's back. He cushioned his landing with a quick spell, recovered his balance, and rushed to attack Saraswati, drawing Zar'roc. She was ready for him. Forgetting magic, the yellow-haired woman freed her own blade and charged, screaming a battle-cry. _'Andlát skađa óvinr!'_

They met with a deafening clash of metal, so hard that Morzan nearly lost hold of his sword. But he was highly skilled with a blade, and he knew how to use his size and weight to his advantage. He turned sideways, deflecting Saraswati's first blow with his armoured shoulder, and swung Zar'roc straight downward toward her neck. She ducked backwards to avoid the blow, and her yellow-bladed sword came in low, aimed at his stomach. It hit him and bounced off the breastplate he wore, and he shoved forward, hurling his full weight at her in a sudden rush that had served him well in the past. It worked this time; his shoulder hit her directly in the chest and she, taken by surprise, staggered backward, instinctively flinging out her sword-arm to catch herself. Morzan took advantage of it almost instantly. Zar'roc lashed out in a blur of red, flicking Saraswati's sword out of her hand, and Morzan laughed and came on, pulling the sword back for a deadly blow.

In the cave around him, Keth and Raluvimbha were struggling together, jaws snapping, while Roland fought Yansan, blasting his fellow human with gold fire. Tranah was helping Idün and Aedua deal with Vandana. Shruikan, on the other hand, had not moved. He was lying on his stomach by the entrance to the cave, trying feebly to get up, while on his back Galbatorix lay utterly still, slumped over his partner's neck as though dead.

Saraswati backed away from Morzan, avoiding Zar'roc with shocking speed. Her right hand rose, and Morzan's heart leapt into his mouth. 'Oh shit-,'

The force of the impact nearly knocked him out. Everything turned blinding yellow-white for a split second, and the next moment he was lying on the floor, pain spiking through his head. He heard a loud clang from somewhere to his left as Zar'roc struck the wall, but all other sound seemed to have shut off.

Another blast of force hit him, and this time he felt it pick him up and hurl him across the chamber. He smacked into something big and rough, and landed in a heap on the ground, feeling his bones crack inside him. The pain was so severe it made his vision go hazy, but he scrabbled desperately at the ground, trying to get up, driven by a survival instinct so powerful it overrode all else. The wall beside him suddenly moved, and he looked up and realised he had hit Shruikan. Galbatorix's white face hovered above him, hanging over the black dragon's neck.

'_SIR!_' Morzan screamed. '_Sir! Do it! Do it now!_'

Galbatorix's eyes snapped open. His hands moved, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

Saraswati was running toward them, her right hand already haloed in yellow light. Somewhere away to her left, Roland was backing away under a flurry of blows from Yansan's sword. Aedua was down, biting desperately at Vandana's throat as the other dragon bore down on her, ignoring the blows from Tranah's sword. Raluvimbha had knocked Keth down and was rushing to help his friend.

And then… and then the brown dragon screamed. His legs folded under him and he fell to the ground, screeching and bellowing, his wings twitching. Saraswati's magic faded and she slammed her hand into her chest and fell backward, writhing in agony. 'NO!' she screamed. 'No!'

But the force of the mental attack continued to flow through her, and with it came pain – a pain so intense it threatened to kill her outright. Vandana collapsed too and, moments later, so did Yansan. Roland and Tranah overpowered the two elders in moments, able now to enter their minds and disable their magic. The two massive elder dragons were subdued only after a fierce struggle, but in the end they succumbed to paralysing spells and ended up lying on the floor of the elder's cave, utterly helpless.

Morzan, lying across Shruikan's talons, saw it all happen as if in a dream. Every part of him hurt, but he hardly noticed.

'_Morzan?'_ He saw Idün coming toward him, trailing a torn wing, her golden eyes fixed on him. _'Morzan!'_

He smiled dreamily. _'We won, Idün. We won…'_

Roland and Tranah helped him up, and he revived sufficiently to cast a healing spell over himself. After that he felt a little better.

Galbatorix had managed to undo the straps on his saddle. He slid onto the floor, nearly collapsing, and paused to touch Shruikan's neck before he walked toward the place where Saraswati lay. For a moment he stood over her, breathing heavily, and then he moved on to Yansan. Once he had examined both of them, he returned to Shruikan and slumped down against his flank.

Morzan, Tranah and Roland came to his side at once.

'We did it!' Tranah said jubilantly. 'We did it! We bloody did it! We've got the bastards!'

Galbatorix looked up at her and grinned. 'So we did, Tranah. So we did.'

'I suppose Vrael isn't here,' said Tranah. 'But who cares? We've got the other two. Ilirea's ours. We should probably go help the others, but I think they're all right…'

She walked past Shruikan to look out over the city. Galbatorix got up to join her, Roland and Morzan following.

The four riders looked down at the view, and what they saw was unlike anything they had ever expected.

The army, under the leadership of Durza and Nar Kvarn, had broken through the walls and surged into the city like a wave rushing up a beach. Already they could see columns of smoke rising from several places, and the sound of screams, shouts and clashing weapons drifted up toward them. The rest of the Forsworn were all in the air, along with the Lethrblaka, but it was plain that they would not need help to win. Of the six riders who had been there to defend the city, four were now dead or unable to fight any longer. The remaining two were trying to flee, but one was being assaulted by the Lethrblaka and the other was being attacked by Orwyne, Kaelyn and Strein and went hurtling toward the ground even as they watched.

'My gods,' Morzan almost whispered. 'I don't believe it. We've done it. We've won. We've… _WON!'_ the last word was a shout, and the bulky rider raised both fists over his head and started to whoop and cheer, his voice carrying out over the city. Behind him, Idün roared. The red dragon came forward to stand beside her rider, and roared again and again. Aedua joined her, and Keth, and Shruikan picked himself up off the floor and added his voice to theirs.

Standing between Morzan and Roland, Galbatorix let a smile slowly spread over his face. It was over. He had done it.

Out in the city, the last one of the riders had finally been killed. The rest of the Forsworn, hearing the roars coming from the elder's cave, turned and flew toward it, leaving the army below to complete the massacre of Ilirea's citizens. They would not need help.

One by one they flew in through the entrance – Sartago, Ithír, Leahdorus, Ymazu, Talziri, Calanon, Somerscales, Abern and Sytha, all alive and complete. Strangely, without any prompting at all, they arranged themselves into a circle once they had landed, their riders dismounting and going to stand in front of them, exactly as the elders had once done. Morzan, Tranah, Roland and their dragons went to join them, leaving Galbatorix and Shruikan alone.

The two of them went to stand at the centre of the circle, moving slowly and ignoring the paralysed Yansan and Saraswati. Galbatorix, walking by Shruikan's side, looked around at the riders who surrounded him, and a flash of memory suddenly struck into his brain and he was back in the past, standing in this very chamber, the accusing eyes of the elders boring into him, his heart tearing itself apart inside his chest. His step faltered, and he let out a soft, hoarse sob.

'_No,'_ Shruikan's voice interrupted. _'Be still. I'm here.'_

Galbatorix looked up, and they looked back, and knelt to him, bowing their heads.

'Lord Galbatorix,' they murmured in unison.

Galbatorix's fear left him. He looked around at them, his throat aching with sadness.

'We did it,' he said softly. 'We did it.'

They rose to their feet.

'Yes, sir,' said Roland, his old face creasing into a smile. 'We did it. Just as you said we would. Ilirea is ours, the elders are defeated, and Alagaësia is free. You have done what no-one else could do. You have achieved the impossible. You have led us to the most glorious victory of our lives, and for that, we thank you.'

Galbatorix bowed his head. 'I couldn't… couldn't have done it without you,' he said, and through his voice was low the chamber's walls caught it and magnified it, letting everyone hear it. He took in a deep breath and raised his head. 'We have done the impossible,' he said, his voice taking on the power and command it had had before, when so much was different. 'We have won the war,' he said. 'The elders have lost. We have defeated a power no-one else could ever defeat – neither man nor elf nor dragon, urgal, Shade or dwarf. The tyranny of the elves is over forever, and now a new time is beginning. A better time, when no race shall rule over the others and all races shall be equal.' He paused, his face suddenly contorting. 'We shall – we shall… we shall give the people back their power. New riders will arise – riders you will train. Riders who know the truth. And from… from hereon, there shall be a new leader, to guide and protect Alagaësia. Vrael is gone, and a new ruler shall arise. I don't… don't know…' he was baring his teeth now, his hands clenching into fists. 'I don't know who that leader will be,' he said, his voice weakening. 'But you'll… find… find them, you will, I tr- I trust – trust… trust you to do that.'

'We already have, my Lord,' said Tranah.

Roland nodded. 'Aye. That leader is you, Lord Galbatorix, Master of the Riders.'

The others roared their approval, pointing their swords at the ceiling.

'_Lord Galbatorix!'_ they shouted as one. '_Lord Galbatorix, Master of Riders, Master of Alagaësia!'_

Galbatorix looked away from them. 'No,' he said quietly. 'I cannot.'

'No, my Lord,' said Roland. 'This is not your choice to make. You cannot hide from this; it is your destiny and your due by right of conquest. You are our new leader. The Three Peaks have chosen and anointed you.'

'Bugger the three peaks,' Morzan snapped. _'We've_ chosen you, my Lord. You won the war, you stopped the elders, you're our master now, an' you'll make everything better, just like you promised you would.'

'I cannot,' Galbatorix said again. 'I am sorry.'

'No, sir,' said Vander. 'There is no choice in this. It's your duty. Your way. The right way.'

Galbatorix took in a deep, shaky breath. 'You must understand,' he said. 'I would… I would be your master. I don't… I don't want to rule here. I never… never wanted to rule. But I wouldn't… wouldn't abandon you, I swear, if I had a choice, but I don't. There is nothing I can do for you any more. I've done all I… all I can for you. I did my best, I did, but that's… this is it, all I can do. From now… you must carry on alone.'

'But why, sir?' said Morzan. 'You ain't leaving, are you? You aren't going to leave us? Please, sir, don't talk like this, it's not right, it's not-,'

'Morzan,' Galbatorix almost whispered. 'I'm sorry. I truly am.'

'But if you're sorry, then why are you doing this?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix fixed him with a stare that seemed to be coming from the other side of some dark veil. 'I'm dying, Morzan,' he said softly.


	57. The Final Curse

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The Final Curse

For a long time after Galbatorix had spoken, absolute silence reigned in the elder chamber. Then, at last, Roland spoke.

'Sir… sir… no. No, you cannot mean that.'

Galbatorix was breathing harshly, his hand pressed into his chest. 'I'm dying, Roland,' he said again. 'There's nothing anyone can do. I'll be dead in less than a day.'

Vander dropped his sword and strode forward. _'Show me,'_ he almost snarled.

Galbatorix undid the fastenings on his breastplate and let it drop to the floor, and then opened his robe, exposing the left side of his chest.

Several of the Forsworn cried out.

The entire left side of Galbatorix's chest had turned an ugly red and purple colour. The scar over his heart was swollen, its surface taut and shiny, as if it were about to burst, and he cried out when Vander touched it.

'Godsdammit,' the skinny man swore. 'Godsdammit, godsdammit, godsdammit! How long have you been like this? How long have you _known?'_

'Since the morning after it happened,' Galbatorix said quietly. 'Since I woke up.'

'What's wrong with him?' Kaelyn demanded.

Vander stared blankly at the scar for a few seconds longer, and then abruptly turned away. 'He's bleeding internally,' he said. 'That shard of dagger inside him must have pierced his heart. Sir…' he turned back, his voice full of entreaty. 'Sir, why didn't you _tell_ me?'

Galbatorix pulled his robe back into place. 'Because I knew there was nothing you could do, Vander. There's nothing anyone can do. I had to keep it secret. I had to stay strong, so you wouldn't worry. If I had said anything, we would have been delayed for weeks and I would have died then, without finishing what I started. I wanted to finish the war before then. So I could die knowing my life's work was complete.'

'But it must have hurt you.'

'It did. All the time. All the-,' he broke off, his face creasing. 'All the time,' he gasped. 'I kept myself… alive… used magic. It exhausted me. I could hardly stand. But I had to keep going. And now it's… it's done. I can die now, I can rest.'

'_No!'_ Morzan strode forward and grabbed hold of his friend's shoulders, holding onto him as if hoping to keep him in the world of the living by force. 'No! I won't… I won't let it…'

'Morzan, there's nothing you can do,' said Galbatorix. 'Truly, nothing.'

Morzan let go of him and turned on Vander. '_Do_ something, dammit! Save him!'

Vander stared at the ground. 'I could reopen the wound and drain the blood out,' he said in defeated tones. 'But it would probably kill him anyway-,'

'No,' Galbatorix said harshly. 'There's nothing you can do, so don't try, Vander. I want to die with dignity. Give me that at least.'

Morzan started to sob. 'You can't do this, sir! You can't die! You can't! Not after everything you've done! It's not _fair!'_

Galbatorix took hold of his arm. 'It's all right, Morzan,' he said gently. 'I'm ready to go. It's my time. I've accepted it.'

But the others had not. They crowded around him, reaching toward him, all talking at once.

'Sir, please. Please, you can't do this! We _need_ you! Let Vander do something-,'

'There's nothing I can do,' Vander interrupted. 'The bleeding is too severe.'

'It's my time,' Galbatorix said again. 'I have…' he cried out as the pain shot through him again, and his legs folded. The others supported him, and he lay still in their arms. Tranah reached out to pull his robe open again and expose the wound. She touched it, sending more pain into his system, and then withdrew her hand, swearing.

To his shock, Galbatorix saw tears on her face. 'It's all right, Tranah,' he whispered. 'I've seen it. I've seen…'

'Sir, please,' said Tranah. 'Please, you can't die!'

'I've seen it,' Galbatorix said again. 'I have… the seer's blood. I saw it. I saw it. Saw myself… with a dagger in my chest. Saw myself die. That's what the dream meant. And then… at Marna… it came true. It was true. I saw myself die. It's fate. It's time. I can't… I can't fight fate.'

'But how can you _want_ to die?' Tranah demanded, angry through her tears.

'What I want has nothing to do with it,' Galbatorix said sharply, his voice suddenly recovering its old power. 'It's my fate and I accept it. Just as Arthryn taught me to.'

'It's _not_ your fate,' Tranah snapped. 'There's no such thing as fate. There's only choice. How can you choose to die?'

Galbatorix closed his eyes. 'I don't, Tranah. I don't. There's no way to stop it.'

Tranah glanced at Vander. 'Is there?'

Vander shook his head. 'There's nothing we can really do to save him,' he said. 'Not unless there's a way to cheat death. And there is no spell that can do that.'

Galbatorix shuddered as more pain bit into him, stabbing at his heart. He could hear their voices pleading with him, begging him not to go. He reached out for Shruikan. _'Shruikan…'_

'_I'm here, Galbatorix,'_ Shruikan answered softly. _'Is it… is it time?'_

'_It won't be long. I'm so sorry, Shruikan, I'm so…'_

A howl echoed over the heads of the Forsworn. Shruikan, lying half-collapsed against one wall, lifted his snout and began to wail. Galbatorix, hearing it, clenched his jaw to try and control himself. But he had no strength left, and tears started to wet his face. First Laela, and now Shruikan. He tried to get up, wanting to go to him, but his boots slid out from under him, and he sobbed weakly. And then, suddenly, Tranah was embracing him. The others joined her, holding out their arms to support and comfort their leader. He could feel their warmth all about, and their concern, and even though the pain was burning inside his chest, making his vision flash red, he realised something then.

'It's you,' he whispered. 'It's you. I was wrong, I was…'

'What is it, sir?' said Tranah, her voice soft, almost motherly. 'What are you trying to say?'

Galbatorix let his weight back onto his feet and stood upright, supporting himself on her shoulder. He looked around at them all; Roland, with Orwyne by his side, Morzan, white-faced but angry in his desperation. Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas, comforting each other with touch. All of them, united.

'It's you,' he said again, a note of wonder in his voice. 'You're what… you're my family, aren't you?' He looked at Roland and Orwyne. 'My grandparents.' Morzan. 'My brother.' Kaelyn, Gern and Tuomas. 'My sons and my daughter.' He smiled a sad, gentle smile. 'I wasn't… I wasn't alone, was I? Not after I found you.'

'Yes,' said Tranah. 'We're your family and your followers, Galbatorix, and we're your friends. We don't just obey you; we care about you. And if you die…'

Galbatorix sighed and looked away from her. 'I don't want to die,' he said. 'I don't want to leave you. But there's no way…'

'Think, sir,' Roland urged. 'Is there anything that can be done, any healing spell you know, anything?'

Galbatorix cringed and shuddered again. 'No,' he rasped. 'Nothing, there's…'

Roland bowed his head. 'Then we've all lost,' he said. 'We've failed.'

'_NO!'_ Morzan roared. 'Stop it! Shut up! This ain't happening. This is bullshit. This is…'

Galbatorix did not listen. The pain was growing stronger, pulling him away into darkness and peace, and he let himself remember a time when he was happy, out in the snow by the pool, with the family he had known for such a short time. They would be waiting for him somewhere out there; he knew it. _I'll be with you now. There's no way I can stay, there's no way to stop it, no way…_

But he could still hear their voices, calling to him, calling him back, and he could feel Shruikan's mind still linked to his own, and its pain and fear. _'I don't want to die, Galbatorix. I don't want…'_

Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes. 'There is…'

'What is it, sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix breathed in deeply and forced himself to stay awake. 'There is a way to cheat death,' he whispered. 'A spell I learned. But it would…'

'Tell us!' Morzan shouted immediately. 'How do we do it?'

Galbatorix raised his head. 'How much would you do for my sake?' he asked them all in a low voice. 'How far…?'

'Anything, sir,' said Tranah.

'Anything,' said Roland.

'I'd die in your place if I could,' said Morzan.

'So would I,' said Strein.

'And me,' said Kaelyn.

The sincerity in their voices gave him new strength, and he pulled himself upright. 'All right,' he said. 'All right. Then we'll… we'll do it.'

'What do we have to do, sir?' said Orwyne.

'Bring the prisoners up here,' said Galbatorix.

'Which ones?'

'All of them.'

He hadn't realised how much time had passed since the battle for Ilirea had begun. The sun had sunk low enough to shine in through the entrance of the elders' cave as the Forsworn left it, their dragons flying out into the city as fast as they could. Galbatorix stayed behind, huddled between Shruikan's foreclaws, conserving his strength for what lay ahead. Morzan stayed with him, pale-faced, occasionally wincing from the pain of his own injuries. 'It's gonna be all right,' he kept saying. 'You're not gonna die. I won't let yeh do it.' He glanced at Galbatorix and grinned weakly. 'Eh? You can't die on us, mate. There's still things left for us to do. You've still got to kill Vrael, an' after that you've got a country to rule.'

Galbatorix made himself breathe deeply, forcing himself to stay awake. 'I don't want to rule,' he murmured. 'How… how can I? I don't know anything about ruling.'

'Vrael didn't either,' said Morzan. 'Know why? 'Cause he didn't _care._ He reckoned he could order people around just 'cause he was powerful an' they weren't. But you ain't like that, sir. You listen to people. Sure, you look scary an' all, but I know you don't mean to be. It's just the way yer are.'

Galbatorix nodded. 'I suppose I act that way sometimes because people expect me to.'

'Yeah,' said Morzan. 'People expect me to act like a moron all the time. I know it. All muscle an' no brain, that's Morzan.'

'You're not stupid, Morzan. I never thought of you that way. Never.'

Morzan grinned his gap-toothed grin. 'It's all right, sir, I know that. You always took me for what I was. Just like you did for everyone else.'

Galbatorix laughed softly. 'That doesn't make me different, Morzan. Because you did the same thing for me. You always have done. When Brom said I was a half-breed, the others all stopped. I saw them. They were shocked. They looked at me for a moment before they said anything, because they were wondering if it meant I wasn't a real person any more. But you didn't. Not even for a moment.'

'Well, why should I have?' said Morzan. 'What damned difference does it make? Everyone's gotta have parents. My dad drove a brick-cart an' spent all his money at the tavern. An' then there's me, his son, the one everyone called Donkey, who used to drag his dad out of the gutter an' take him home when he'd had too many to walk there. An' _that_ boy ended up fighting for the best leader in the world, the one who beat the elves _and_ the old riders _and_ the wild dragons an' then ended the new ruler of the riders. They call me Lord Morzan, Galbatorix's strong right arm. Honest, they do. I've heard 'em. Now, who would have said that the son of Murtagh the Bricklayer would end up in a place like this, eh? Who would have said I'd been born right for it? No-one, because that ain't how it works. You ain't _born_ to be anything. You choose it, fight for it. An' no matter what happens, I know I chose right.'

'You're wiser than you think you are, Morzan,' said Galbatorix. 'And you're right. It _is_ all about choosing. I wasn't born a rider, or a leader, or anything except for what I am. I could have spent the rest of my life in Teirm, making boots. But I didn't, because I chose to look for something different. I heard the things people called me after they found out the truth. "Bastard half-breed freak", that was what they said. And they spat at me and threw things, and some of them even tried to kill me. And I saw it… saw the way they looked at me. They were _frightened _of me. And it made them hate me. And I wanted… I wanted to change it, so I tried. I spent… my whole life trying. And now…' he laughed a harsh, bitter laugh. 'And now I can see how well I succeeded. I showed them what would happen if a half-breed joined the riders.'

'No, sir,' said Morzan. 'It's not like that. It ain't. It's war; people always die in wars. People joined you, didn't they? So they believe in yeh. An' after this is done an' you're strong again, we'll show them they were right. We'll make this country great again, all of us together.'

They heard the sound of wings from outside, and a large group of dragons flew in. Others followed, and soon the chamber was full of them. The Forsworn brought the prisoners and their dragons to stand in a cluster in front of their leader, and Tranah came to his side.

'All right, sir, we've brought them. What do we do with them?'

Galbatorix got up with difficulty, wincing. He leaned on Morzan's arm and pointed at the edges of the chamber. 'Arrange them… in a circle. Chain them. You'll stand in a ring, with them on the outside. I'll be in the centre, and we'll cast the… the spell.'

'Are you sure you'll be strong enough for it, sir?'

'There's no other choice,' Galbatorix rasped. 'Do it.'

Tranah nodded and hurried off, and they heard her barking orders to the rest of the Forsworn. The prisoners, including Oromis, Yansan and Saraswati, were taken to the edges of the chamber and arranged in a ring, in a bizarre parody of the elders' circle that had once stood in that very chamber. The dragons lay behind their riders, their wings and legs chained together, and each rider was forced to kneel, their wrists chained to rings driven into the floor by magic. They, having been forced to take oaths not to fight or try and escape, cried out pathetically as the manacles were snapped into place, begging to be set free. Their pleas were ignored.

The Forsworn arranged themselves in a circle, their dragons beside them, and Morzan helped Galbatorix to the centre. Shruikan made to follow him, but he turned to the black dragon and said; _'No. Go outside. Perch on the top of the tower and watch out for danger.'_

Shruikan lowered his head toward his partner. _'I won't leave you, Galbatorix.'_

Galbatorix touched his snout. _'I'll be all right, Shruikan. Please, go. For me. I want you to stay safe. When it's time, I'll call for you. Please, Shruikan.'_

Shruikan breathed in deeply. _'All right,'_ he said. _'But please… don't make me wait long.'_

'_I won't. I promise.'_

Shruikan walked slowly toward the entrance, and the Forsworn parted to let him through. He took to the air with a clumsy flick of his wings, and circled upward and out of sight. Galbatorix stood still, apparently listening to his mental voice, and then sighed. 'He'll be safe out there,' he murmured, to no-one in particular. 'Morzan…'

'Yes, sir?'

Galbatorix was breathing heavily, his head low. Sweat beaded on his forehead. 'Go…' he nearly whispered, gesturing vaguely at the spot where Idün waited. 'Take your place.'

Morzan didn't move. 'Sir…' he said. 'Do you know what you're doing?'

'I hope so, Morzan.'

Morzan hesitated for a moment, and then took his friend in a fierce embrace. 'I'll do my best for you, sir,' he said. 'I swear I will.'

Galbatorix's thin body felt frighteningly fragile in his arms. 'I trust you, Morzan. Just as you trust me.'

Morzan let go of him and went to stand by Idün's side. 'I'm ready, sir,' he said. 'What do we do?'

Galbatorix looked toward the entrance. Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon. 'We wait until moonrise,' he said.

'Why?' said Tranah.

'Because…' he paused, and winced. 'Because the magic is dark elvish. The moon… strengthens it. When it shines in on us, it'll be time.'

He sat down, cross-legged, and bowed his head. In his chest the piece of the dagger bit into him, cutting a little deeper with every heartbeat, slowly working its way into his heart.

Outside, the sun gradually disappeared in a blaze of red and gold, while in the sky overhead the stars began to come out. Smoke drifted up toward them from the burning city, and Galbatorix knew that the sacking of Ilirea was still taking place. The elves below were being massacred, just as they had been in Du Weldenvarden. And he was glad. There, in that cold chamber, feeling his wound slowly killing him, he was glad.

'Sir,' said Tranah. 'While we wait, you should probably tell us how this spell works.'

Galbatorix coughed and shuddered. 'It's dark elvish,' he said. 'I learned it in the North. From my grandmother, Arthryn. If it works, it will heal me and make me much stronger than before. I will open my mind to yours, and recite the spell. All you have to do is… is pour energy into me. Draw it out of the prisoners. As much as you need. Just keep it going, don't stop. It will take all the energy you can provide. But I must warn you. If… if the spell fails, I'll die. And you'll feel me die, as if I were your dragon. Are you… are you willing to risk that?'

'Yes,' said Tranah. 'I won't let you die, sir. I promise.'

'None of us will,' Roland agreed.

'Well, it sounds straightforward enough,' Morzan said confidently. 'Just an extra-powerful healing spell, right, sir?'

Galbatorix nodded vaguely. 'I suppose you could call it that.'

Tranah glanced behind her, to where a green dragon lay, his rider kneeling beside him. Carina looked back, entreating her sister with her eyes.

'Sir,' said Tranah. 'The spell… what will it do to the prisoners? It won't kill them, will it?'

Galbatorix hesitated. He looked at Tranah, at Strein, at Morzan and Roland and all the others, and then he looked out through the entrance at the sky, where the stars were shining out of the darkness. A faint glow was visible on the horizon, white and pure. The moon was rising. A memory came to him as the faint whispering of Shruikan's voice in his mind. _Sparing your enemies will never bring you anything except more pain. One day you'll see that, Galbatorix._

'Sir?' said Tranah.

Galbatorix looked at her. 'No,' he said softly.

'_Galbatorix, the moon is rising,'_ Shruikan called. _'Can you see it?'_

Galbatorix stood up slowly. All the strength was leaving his limbs. His heart was fluttering desperately in his chest, trying to keep him alive even as the blood leaked out of it into his flesh, making it swell and throb. Blank fear closed over his mind. This was it. He no longer had the strength to walk. In less than an hour he would be comatose, and after that he would die.

And, in that moment, white light flooded into the elders' chamber. The moon had risen, and its glory fell across the assembled riders, gleaming on the dragons' scales. Galbatorix closed his eyes when it touched his face, and felt a strength and calm fill him, cold and certain and pure.

'It's time,' he whispered. 'Begin.'

'_Galbatorix, what are you going to do?'_ Shruikan's mental voice asked.

Galbatorix took in a deep breath and shut the dragon out, severing their bond and purging Shruikan's presence from his mind until nothing was left. When he had done, he opened his mind to those of the Forsworn, letting them share his thoughts and feelings. He travelled along the mental channels this created, making connections between the Forsworn and the prisoners, every single one, until every rider and dragon in the room was connected, sharing one consciousness. He heard them shudder and cry out mentally as they felt his pain, and his own body, still standing in the middle of the chamber, trembled as it felt the pain of their own wounds – Morzan's cracked ribs, the sword-cut on Tranah's leg, Orwyne's burn, Idün's torn wing… he could feel it all.

He pulled back into his body, still keeping the channels open, and took command of his voice once more. He paused for a moment, delving into his memory, and then he began. He held his hands out toward the moon, palms-forward, fingers spread wide, as if trying to pluck the shining orb out of the sky, and began to recite the words Arthryn had taught him, so long ago.

'_At 'r chyneua chan 'r llonaid leuad, Fi invoke hon hud. At 'r gras chan 'r ar goll dduwiau, Gwna hon ble. At 'r chrau chan hyn aberthau, Chymera hon ddonia._' His voice rose to the ceiling, strong and confident. '_At 'r chryfeder chan 'm hud a 'r chyfnertha chan hyn swyn gyfareddwyr, Chymera ar myfi 'r muchedd chan 'r brudia, a arddel 'r 'n ddedwydd noda chan 'n ddiau anfarwoldeb._' He turned slowly, staring at the Forsworn, one by one. '_Chan hos nos, Fi bodd gwared myfi chan farwol gwendid a buchedda 'r buchedd chan ddinwydd. Fi bodd mo chrebacha chan 'r yn dioddef chan byth. Chan hon ddiwrnod Fi shall bod fel carega, yn clywed na boeni, na hiraetha, na cawdd a na fenwyd. Pawb hon Fi bodd abertha, a ad 'm chrau ddylifa ag 'r chryfder chan dduw._' His voice faltered a little, but he turned toward the moon once again, holding his hands out in supplication toward it, and spoke the final sentence. '_Hon Archa chan 'th, 'n dragwyddol dduwiau, at 'r 'n gysegredig chyneau chan 'r leaud. Ad 'r chyfnewid ddechrau, a ad 'm buchedda ai bwra 'm i lawr.'_

The instant the last word left his lips, he felt his own magic surge up inside him. Without Shruikan's strength to reinforce it, it started to sap his energy immediately. But even as he felt it start to kill him, energy flowed in to replace it from the Forsworn. Twelve beams of light hit him; red, blue, brown, gold, yellow, orange, grey and green, and when it touched him it turned pitch black, until his entire body glowed with dark energy.

The words had been spoken. All that remained for him to do now was stand still and keep the channels open. He tried instinctively to move, but couldn't. The magic had him in its grip, and it kept him rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch and wait.

He looked down at his hands, and saw them covered in light, every pore and wrinkle outlined by it. He flexed them, and they moved, every bone and joint perfectly coordinated. So beautiful, so elegant, and his.

And still the magic continued to flow, on and on, filling every part of him, and with it came strength. This was a strength greater than Shruikan's, greater than Laela's, greater than his own. His bones and muscles burned with it. He lifted a foot and stamped it on the ground, and huge cracks spread over the stone. His hands flexed, and suddenly he knew that, if he wanted, they could break a dragon's neck or bring down a tree. His eyes shone, and he stared out at the moon and realised he could see every crater on its surface, and count every star and cloud in the sky. He could see the snow on the mountains, hundreds of miles away, and the sea beyond them. He could hear it, too, rushing and hissing with the waves. And beyond that, even, to other lands and other places, and there he thought he caught a brief snatch of a voice. _Your father, _it said. _Your father._

And he could see things closer too, far more clearly than he had ever seen them before. He could see every grain of dust on the floor, every hair on Morzan's head, every thread in the fabric of his robe.

But still the power did not stop coming. He felt it move over him, inexorably. Searching. And then… and then the pain hit him. He lifted his head to the ceiling and screamed, as the magic took hold of him, lifting him up off the floor. He felt his sinews stretch to breaking point, and his skin warp and shift as if it had a mind of its own. His spine cracked, bending along its entire length, and in his chest his heart beat faster and faster, threatening to burst with its own energy. The thick scar on his chest swelled outward like a blister. Then it burst. The wound reopened, and blood gushed out, soaking into his robe in torrents. Galbatorix screamed and screamed, his voice filling the entire chamber and making its walls shake. He could feel his life's blood pouring out of him, hot and vital, running down over his chest and dripping onto the floor below until he was suspended above a lake of redness. But still the magic had hold of him, and it would not let him die. It was all that was keeping him alive now. In his head, he could hear the voices of his friends, screaming as they shared his pain, and his voice joined with theirs just as it had once joined with Laela's.

But still the magic poured through them and into him, and still the spell continued. And, even as the agony threatened to destroy his mind, he heard something, faintly, above the sound of his own cries.

An innocuous sound. Not a particularly loud one. But he heard it.

The soft clank of a piece of metal landing on stone.

The instant he heard it, the pain in his chest began to recede. The magic surged up once more, gathering itself inside the wound, and the bleeding abruptly stopped. The wound closed over in seconds, black energy knitting the flesh back together and leaving no sign of a scar behind. His back clicked softly and became supple and flexible once more, and his crooked forefinger cracked back into its original shape. Every scratch and bruise he had gathered over the last few days healed over, and the miraculous strength filled him, replenishing his energy, giving him his life back before the magic gently lowered him to the floor once more.

Joy rose in Galbatorix's heart. He had done it. It had worked. He was alive. He wanted to call out to the others, and tell them it had worked, tell them they had been right, tell them…

But he couldn't. His mental voice was utterly silent. Fear suddenly struck into his stomach. The magic was still flowing into him, inexorably, on and on. And it did not stop. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He was trapped, standing in a pool of his own blood, still as a statue, his eyes wide open.

He tried desperately to shut down the mental channels, to stop the flow of magic, but he couldn't. The sheer force of it was so powerful that it overwhelmed him, and when he tried to push it back it simply flattened him, sending red-hot pain into his head.

And, even as he started to panic, he felt it begin. He felt the magic start to change him. His heart beat faster and faster, pumping red-hot blood through his veins, and his lungs expanded and contracted like a bellows. Thoughts flitted through his head, lightning-fast. His muscles became iron-hard, infinitely strong, filled with magic, his eyes blinked and saw to the ends of the earth and his nostrils took in a thousand scents and knew every single one of them instantly.

A wave of euphoria rushed over him. The spell of true immortality. It was working. He knew in that moment that he could do anything. Anything at all. He could pull the stars from the sky, boil the seas and lift mountains with his bare hands. The whole world was his to reach out and change. He could command the powers of life and death, make the sun rise at night, turn back time as he chose, make anything the way he wanted it to be. He was all-knowing, all-powerful, eternal. He was a god.

Galbatorix started to laugh.

His laugh went on and on, echoing over the whole city. An insane, power-hungry, cruel and soulless laugh.

He could feel the fear and confusion of the Forsworn, but he didn't care. He laughed on, forgetting everything else, utterly consumed by the power inside him. His own voice shouted into the sky, harsh and twisted, impossibly loud. _I AM GALBATORIX._

But even as he laughed, even in that moment as he felt himself ascend toward true immortality and godhood, he faltered.

His laugh died in his throat, and he cried out suddenly. Pain was filling him. Pain and terror – a terror so deep that it turned him icy cold all over. And, all around him, he heard it, horribly loud to his heightened senses, striking dread into him.

'_NO!_'

'Please no!'

'Gods, _no, no, no, no!_'

'_HELP ME! SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP!_'

He felt a hot, wet trickle move down over his face, from his eyes, but when he touched his face there was nothing there.

But he could still hear them. They were screaming, crying out, pleading for mercy, sobbing and shouting.

Shouting his name.

'_GALBATORIX!_'

'_Curse you, Galbatorix! Curse you! Gods curse you forever!_'

All his elation left him. He could feel a numbing, weakening pain all over him, and he knew it was coming from the prisoners. They were dying. He could feel blood oozing out of a dozen pairs of phantom eyes, feel their hearts fluttering and weakening, feel the searing horror and despair coming from them, hear their voices screaming, cursing him with their last breaths, crying out to the gods to strike him down.

And he could feel it, and he couldn't stop it. It was too late.

He could feel the Forsworn too, and he knew they were feeling what he was feeling. And he could feel their own agony, their own terror, their own desperation. But they, like he, could not stop the spell. The magic flowed on, dragged out of the prisoners and sent through the minds of the twelve Forsworn, straight into Galbatorix's body.

'No!' he cried. 'No! Stop it! Someone-!'

He could feel something at the back of his mind, some tiny, feeble presence, needling at him, trying to get through his mental defences. He shut it out instinctively, not knowing what it was, and it vanished.

There was a roaring in his ears, mixed with a distant buzzing. Soon it would be all over. He bowed his head and waited for the end to come.

But then there was another roaring, and it was coming not from inside the chamber but from outside it. Galbatorix looked up, bewildered, and then the floor shook. A massive bellowing made the walls tremble. He wanted to turn and run, but he could not. He stared helplessly at the entrance, and saw the moon vanish, blotted out. Something massive and golden rushed in, straight toward him, and then it had passed by, knocking him down. He didn't even feel himself hit the floor. He tried desperately to break away from the mental channels locked into his mind, but in vain.

And then he felt something he had felt once before, so long ago, something that struck into his brain with the force of a thousand sword-blows, something that picked him up and hurled him away into darkness, something that destroyed him and, with him, everything else.

He felt himself die.


	58. Liar

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Liar

'Sir? Sir? Sir! Can you hear me? Sir!'

Galbatorix groaned and tried to open his eyes. They did so slowly, and light reluctantly came back into his world. He stared at a large blurry object that was hanging over him, unable to do more than wonder what it was.

'Sir!' the voice said again. 'Sir, can you hear me? Are you all right? Say something?'

Galbatorix coughed. 'Mor… Morzan…?'

The blur slowly focused itself into an image of Morzan's craggy, scarred face, looking down at him with concern. 'Yes, it's me, sir,' the big rider's voice said.

Galbatorix blinked slowly. 'Am I dead?'

Morzan shook his head. 'No… no, sir, you're not. Are you hurt? Can you get up?'

Galbatorix breathed in shakily and moved his head a fraction, peering at his surroundings. He couldn't remember what had happened or where he was, and all he could see in any direction was whiteness.

Morzan took him by the shoulder and hauled him upright with scarcely an effort – the room span around him and he instinctively seized hold of a handful of Morzan's tunic to stop himself falling over. Morzan supported him until his head cleared, and he looked around, blinking.

The sight of the elders' cave brought the memory of what had happened rushing back. Fear stabbed into his chest, and he tore his robe open as fast as he could. The fabric was wet and sticky with blood, but when he pulled it aside to expose the wound over his heart, he found nothing there. Nothing at all. No wound, no scar, not even a hint of redness. The horrible swelling and purple discolouration had vanished. He was healed. He flexed his arms experimentally, and they were strong and pain-free. His back, which normally ached after a fight, felt fine. He was in perfect health.

He refastened the front of his robe, his heart fluttering with relief, but even as he fumbled with the last fastening he suddenly realised that he could hear something. He had been hearing it ever since he had woken up.

The air was full of wailing and moaning; an awful, high, dirgelike sound that terrified him more than the noise of an oncoming foe. It came from several voices. Voices he knew. Galbatorix looked up slowly, and saw a sight that he would never forget for the rest of his life.

The prisoners had not moved from where they had been chained. The riders lay slumped, their wrists still connected to the rings in the floor, and many of the dragons had rolled onto their sides, head and wings curled in upon their bellies, unmoving. Every single one of them was lying in a pool of blood – blood that had oozed from their eyes, their mouths and nostrils… from every part of them. Their skins had shrivelled, drawn tight over their bones as if they had been lying in the desert under a baking sun for decades. He could see their faces, still twisted into the masks of agony they had worn as they died. His sacrifices.

The Forsworn had not moved far. It was still night, and the moon shone in through a massive hole that had appeared in the roof, bathing his friends and followers in its eerie white light. It was they who were moaning, he realised coldly.

He started to walk toward them, his stomach churning with dread. Some of them were moving. Others were not.

He saw Orwyne, cradling Roland's head on her lap and sobbing brokenly. Roland did not move to comfort her. He was dead, one hand still reaching out toward the spot where Keth's body lay on its side, mouth open in a tired snarl. Lalla and Elric were also dead, while Ana, still living, stood over them, staring blankly at her brother's corpse as if she did not know what it was. Tranah was trying to free Carina's body of its manacles, her hands fumbling, tears running down her face, while Aedua bellowed her agony over Talziri's limp form. Vander lay crumpled face-down, and Ymazu, who had dragged herself to his side, was nosing at him and whining, trying to make him wake up.

Galbatorix stood and stared at them all, an icy coldness swimming inside him.

Morzan stood beside him, loyal to the last. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but after he had opened his mouth several times without saying a word he silently turned and walked away to where Idün crouched, waiting for him.

Tuomas appeared at his old master's side. 'Master,' he said, tugging at Galbatorix's sleeve. 'Master… are you all right?'

Galbatorix looked at him. 'Yes.' His voice seemed to be coming from far away.

Tuomas' face was bewildered. 'I think Kaelyn and Gern are dead. They're not breathing. Master, what should I do?'

Galbatorix started to speak, and stopped. He paused, sighed, and shook his head. Turning away from Tuomas, he stumbled toward the others. They, caught up in their grief, barely noticed him. He stood over Orwyne, wanting to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He couldn't bear to look at Tranah, or Ana. Instead he went to Vander.

Ymazu looked up at him when he approached, and then looked away. Galbatorix crouched by Vander's side, and touched him on the shoulder.

Vander's skin was warm. Galbatorix turned him onto his back and patted his face. 'Vander? Vander? Vander! Vander, wake up! Please, wake up!'

Vander's face twitched, and he mumbled something. Galbatorix checked him for injuries, but found none. 'Vander?' he said again. 'Vander, it's me, it's…' for some reason he couldn't say his own name.

Vander opened his eyes at last, and focused on him.

'Vander,' Galbatorix said again, and Ymazu crooned and nuzzled her partner's chest, comforting him with her presence.

Vander reached up to touch her, and sighed.

'Are you all right?' Galbatorix asked.

Vander looked at him, his dark eyes blank and empty of expression. 'They're dead,' he said in a flat voice.

Galbatorix's voice caught in his throat, and he nodded jerkily. 'The spell… failed,' he intoned.

Vander only stared at him. 'You're alive,' he said.

Galbatorix wordlessly helped him up, and he stood, albeit a little shakily, leaning on Ymazu's neck.

When Galbatorix turned, he saw them. The surviving Forsworn had risen and gathered together in a ragged group. Tuomas, Morzan, Tranah, Orwyne and Ana. Five survivors. They stared at him silently, pale-faced and red-eyed, like the living dead, and he knew that, even now, at the very edge of life and sanity, they were looking to him to guide them.

'What happened?' said Galbatorix, his voice echoing in the chamber, as flat and dead as he felt.

'The spell was interrupted,' Tranah said in a low voice. 'The ring was broken.'

'By what?' said Vander.

'Glaedr,' said Tuomas. 'I saw him. He flew in here… he tore a hole in the roof. He took Oromis. Carried him out of here. I saw him go, and then…'

'The energy was too much,' said Orwyne. 'The shock of it… I managed to pull out in time. But we…'

Tuomas let out a sob. 'What are we gonna _do_, sir?' he said. 'What're we gonna…?'

Galbatorix stared at the ground. 'We have to bury them,' he said huskily. 'In the… the catacombs. Under the city.'

At the word "catacombs", Orwyne let out a passionate sound, half-scream and half wail. She wrapped her arms around Tranah and held onto her, sobbing into her shoulder. Tranah supported her while she cried, her broad, freckled face pale and blank.

'What about… the others, sir?' said Morzan, not looking at the remains of the prisoners.

'Them too,' said Galbatorix. 'I'll… I'll…' he broke off suddenly, as another recollection thudded into his brain. _Shruikan!_ He reached out desperately with his mind, searching for the black dragon. For a few heart-stopping seconds he couldn't find him, but then, at last, he heard the voice in his head.

'_Galbatorix? Galbatorix? Where are you?'_

'_I'm here, Shruikan.'_

Shruikan's relief was overwhelming. _'Galbatorix! Thank the sea and the sky, I thought you were dead! I couldn't find you…'_

'_I know. I shut you out. Where are you?'_

'_I chased after that crippled coward Glaedr. He escaped, Northwards. I'm coming back now. Galbatorix, what happened in there? Are you hurt?'_

'_No. I'm… fine.'_

'_You feel strong,'_ said Shruikan. _'Does that mean…?'_

'_Yes, Shruikan. The magic… worked. The wound has been healed.'_

Shruikan sighed. _'Thankyou, Galbatorix. For finding the strength. You've saved us both.'_

Galbatorix stared at the withered corpses of Yansan and Saraswati where they lay, twisted and contorted with the final throes of death. _'Yes,'_ he said coldly.

Morzan had been watching him. Now he pointed at Tuomas. 'You, boy,' he said hoarsely. 'Help me with them.'

Tuomas glanced at Galbatorix and went to Morzan's side, and the two of them began to arrange the bodies of Kaelyn and Gern, closing their eyes and folding their arms over their chests. Leahdorus lay dead, close to her rider, but Sartago was nowhere to be seen. Galbatorix walked toward them. 'Lay them down in the middle of the floor,' he said. 'In a clear spot. I will… I'll go below and get some people to help us.' Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away across the chamber, toward the nearest door. His path led him over the very centre, where he had stood to cast the spell. The pool of blood was still there, drying out in the cold night breeze that blew in through the shattered roof. He could see the cracks in the floor from where he had stamped on it and, half-hidden by the patch of congealing blood, were two boot-shaped burn marks. He bent to touch them, running his fingers over the stone. The heat had been so intense that it had not just burned the stone, but melted it. The soles of his boots, when he examined them, were coated in hard white stone, perfectly imitating the original shape of the tread.

He saw something gleaming dully on the floor, between the burn-marks, half-lost in the pool of blood, and picked it up. A little triangle of metal, as large as the nail on his forefinger. He cupped it in his palm, staring vacantly at it. How could something this small have been the cause of all this? How could…?

He stood up abruptly and walked on toward the half-open door, his stone-soled boots clinking softly.

The Elders' Tower was almost completely deserted, but he saw plenty evidence of the fighting that had taken place inside it as he made his way down. Bodies lay here and there, enemy and ally alike, abandoned where they had fallen. Doors had been smashed in, and wall hangings had been torn down and carried off as loot. He passed a few people who were still alive, abandoned by their comrades. Many of them were moaning or sobbing in pain, and those who were members of the rebel army reached toward him, appealing to him for help. He barely saw them. He walked on and left them to their fate, feeling nothing but a hollow void inside his chest, until at last he reached the ground floor.

He found Durza there with a number of humans and urgals, helping them root out and kill a group of elves who had barricaded themselves inside a storeroom. Galbatorix stood by and watched as the Shade broke down the door with magic and then charged through it, his companions hot on his heels. Crashes and screams came from the storeroom, and, a few seconds later, a desperate elf ran out through the shattered doorway, straight into him. Galbatorix caught him as he tried to escape, and ruthlessly broke his neck. He let the body fall, and stared at it blankly. Had he done that?

Durza emerged, cleaning the blood off his sword. He saw Galbatorix and bowed. 'My Lord. It's good to see you're alive.'

The human and urgal warriors, having finished the fight in the storeroom, came out too. But when they saw Galbatorix, many of them went white. They lowered their weapons and cringed away from him as if he were coming at them with a sword, and he stared at them, bewildered.

'My Lord?' said Durza. 'What are your orders?'

Galbatorix blinked. 'How is… how did the battle go?'

'Well,' said Durza. 'We have captured most of the city. A few of the enemy have managed to hold on inside the buildings, but they will not last long. The Ra'zac have accounted for most of those who tried to flee. Unfortunately, the city is badly damaged. It will take a long time to repair.'

Galbatorix shook his head. 'No. We won't repair it. We'll destroy it.'

Durza blinked – a rare thing for him. 'All of it, my Lord?'

'Yes. Down to the foundations. Ilirea is an elvish city. We will build a new city. A human one. Durza…'

'Yes, my Lord?'

'We need help,' said Galbatorix, in a faraway voice. 'Up in the… in the elders' cave. Some of… we need some stretchers. And people to carry them. And… some urns. Large ones. Organise some people to go up and help.' He was looking at the people standing behind Durza – his followers. Their faces, turned toward him, were full of fear. 'What's wrong with them?' he said aloud.

Durza laughed a short, flat, Shade-laugh. 'You have changed, my Lord,' he said. 'Do not think the men in the city could not hear what you were doing in the elders' cave. None of them dared to go up there, even when Glaedr attacked. Many of them will believe you're dead. You will have to show yourself to them to change their minds.'

Galbatorix touched his hair, and realised it was stiff with blood. He looked at Durza. Saw the strange, dark amusement in the Shade's eyes. He turned away. 'Organise some stretchers. As many as you can find. Now.'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Durza.

As the Shade left, his followers in tow, some of them stopped to look at Galbatorix. Most of them simply turned away without a word, but one or two of them reached out to touch his robe. 'My Lord,' they murmured, and he could hear the fear and anxiety in their voices. Worse still, he knew it was not so much fear for themselves as for him.

He made no attempt to speak with them, and walked away back the way he had come, up the endless ramps and flights of stairs that led to the elders' cave and the horror inside it. He did not feel any fatigue. His muscles were strong and carried him on without the slightest twinge. He had never been able to climb the interior of any one of Ilirea's towers without being forced to stop and rest, but now he found himself able to go on and on, scarcely noticing the effort it took. Did that mean he had achieved true immortality? Was this what it was like to have the power a god? Or was he simply too numb to be aware of his true exhaustion? He didn't know, and he couldn't think about it. The memory of the look in Durza's red Shade-eyes lingered in his mind, and he shivered.

He reached the elders' cave to find that the others had been at work. They had laid out the bodies of the dead riders in a neat row, with Gern, Kaelyn, Roland, Strein, Lalla and Elric side-by-side at one end. The dragons, less easy to move, were spaced around the edges of the chamber. The surviving Forsworn were walking among the bodies of their friends, sometimes stopping to stare at them before they moved on. Tranah and Morzan both had a vacant look about them, as if they were in a trance. Orwyne kept sobbing, and Vander was holding onto Ymazu, his crooked fingers gripping her scales as if he would never let her go. Tuomas was kneeling by the bodies of Kaelyn and Gern, head bowed. He was praying, Galbatorix realised dully. Just as Roland had taught him to.

Galbatorix watched them all and realised that he didn't know what to do. Over the last few years, ever since he had become the Great Betrayer, he had always seemed to know what to do. But here, and now, when there was no-one to fight and no need to hide, he felt useless, his mind empty of thought or tangible emotion.

A terrible loneliness came over him, and he reached out for Shruikan. _'Shruikan?'_

'_I come,'_ the dragon replied.

A few moments later, Shruikan swooped in through the entrance. He landed not far from the row of bodies, faltering when he saw them. Galbatorix felt his surprise, and went to meet him. Shruikan turned to look at him, and shared a feeling of dull shock. _'Galbatorix,'_ he said, stepping toward his partner. _'What in the gods' names happened here? What have you done to yourself?'_

Galbatorix stood before the dragon, head bowed, as if he were a student in disgrace reporting to his master. He tried to speak, but couldn't.

'_Look at me,'_ Shruikan commanded.

Galbatorix raised his head and stared into the dragon's golden eyes. He saw them widen.

'_Galbatorix… what have you done?'_

Galbatorix found his voice at last. _'I don't… I don't know, Shruikan.'_

Shruikan sniffed at him. _'You've… you don't… you're different. You've changed. But I don't know… I can't… you're not hurt?'_

'_No.'_

Shruikan was silent, struggling to find the words he needed. In the end, unable to express what had disturbed him so much, he sent Galbatorix an image – of himself.

Galbatorix saw himself as Shruikan could see him, and when he did, he felt as if someone had thumped him in the stomach. He was alive… but he didn't look alive. His face was pale, his hair matted with blood. His robe hung off him, stained with more blood. He looked like a man on the very edge of his strength, as if the slightest breeze could knock him over. And his eyes, darkened and staring, were not those of a living thing. They were blank and cold and empty, two black voids set into his face. He looked like a living corpse.

'Oh gods…' he whispered.

Shruikan stirred and looked around at the bodies. _'How did they die?'_

Galbatorix could not make himself follow the dragon's gaze. _'I made… I did… it was an accident.'_

'_What accident? What did you do? Did Glaedr…?'_

'_No. It was a spell. We used magic… all of us working together. To save me… us. To heal the wound. Glaedr… interrupted it. The shock killed them.'_

Shruikan groaned softly. _'Magic… I hate it. I always have. It's unnatural. It's…'_

'_It saved me,'_ Galbatorix said bitterly.

'Sir, they're here,' Morzan's voice interrupted, from behind him.

Galbatorix turned. Sure enough, a group of men had entered the elders' cave, carrying stretchers and a number of large urns.

'We found these down below,' one of them explained. 'The Shade's got some other people bringing more. What do we do with them?'

'The urns… are for the dragons,' Galbatorix said gruffly. 'Put one beside each of them. The stretchers are to carry the bodies. See if… send someone to find the armoury. Look for ceremonial armour. Six suits of it. Whatever there is.'

The man nodded, and he and his comrades set to work, placing an urn next to each dead dragon, and a stretcher for each body. As they worked, others arrived with more urns and stretchers, enough for each of the corpses. Galbatorix nodded to them, and once they had completed their task they moved silently out of the way as the Forsworn looked to their leader.

'I will cast the black fire over the dragons,' Galbatorix said. 'The ashes will be put into the urns and taken downstairs… to wait for us. We'll carry the… the others. The urns will go into the tombs with them.'

No-one spoke. Galbatorix turned away, toward Keth, and unleashed his magic. It came easily – much more easily than it ever had before, and powerfully as well. Once the golden dragon's body was alight he moved on to the next, and the next, one by one, murmuring the funeral rites as he did so. The magic did not tire him at all; it continued to flow effortlessly, without draining his energy.

When he had done, and the ashes had been packed into the urns and each one marked with a name, he helped the others to lift the bodies of the dead riders onto the stretchers, friend and enemy alike. No-one spoke, but Orwyne continued to sob as she laid Roland's body down. When a pair of men came to lift Strein's stretcher, Tranah came forward and displaced one of them. 'I'll take her,' she said quietly.

Galbatorix lifted a pair of urns, and nodded silently to the others before he walked away, toward the door and through it. They followed, forming themselves into a procession, leaving the surviving dragons behind, huddled together in a silent group.

Galbatorix led the way down the inside of the tower, the hollow clinking of his stone-coated soles echoing off the white walls the only sound that accompanied the journey to the catacombs. He knew the way there; he had visited it once, long ago, as a student. Vrael had insisted that he and Flell both go there and see the tombs that had been carved for them – to remind them that no matter how far their life's journeys went they would both end in the same place – a cold stone tomb beneath Ilirea's towers.

He found the thick wooden door that led down into them easily enough – it had remained undisturbed during the battle, and he opened it and descended into the darkness beyond, muttering a word that summoned up a magical light to guide him down the steps. Down and down he went, weighed down by the heavy urns, until the floor levelled out and he was in a long narrow chamber, its walls lined with tombs. Each one was carved with a likeness of the rider who owned it, armed and armoured for battle, with their dragon beside them. Some were sealed shut, but others remained open, the stone slab that would close them and complete the carving placed neatly against the wall beside them.

Galbatorix walked slowly past the silent tombs, pausing to read the names until he reached one he recognised. There, he stopped.

The procession caught up with him, and he put the urns down and turned to face them. 'Roland,' he said softly.

Orwyne came forward, carrying the front half of the stretcher that bore his body. She and her fellow bearer laid it down in front of the open tomb, and Galbatorix placed the urn containing Keth's ashes beside it. 'We'll leave him here,' he said. 'Until we have some armour for him to wear.' He picked up the other urn and walked on.

He stopped when he reached the tomb at the very end of the first chamber, turning to stare at the carving. This one was open, and the wall above the hole that would one day receive a body had the head and shoulders of a man and a dragon carved into it. More a boy than a man, really. Tall and sinewy, with a mane of curly hair. The face was angular and coldly handsome, the eyes staring confidently into the distance, the mouth set into a slight smile. Beside him was carved a slender female dragon with a long, intelligent face and smiling eyes. Her wings were half-spread as if she were about to take flight, and one front paw was raised.

Galbatorix ran his fingers over the stone, staring at the image for a moment before he abruptly turned away and moved on.

The catacombs went deep into the earth, branching out into dozens of different chambers. None of them were arranged in any particular order, and there were no separate places for elders or any other honoured rank. In death, all men were equal. One by one they found the tombs of the dead riders and placed the bodies beside them, until they were done and Galbatorix dismissed their helpers. Once they had departed, under orders to find six suits of ceremonial armour, Galbatorix stood by the body of Saraswati and said; 'We can bury her now.' He bent to lift the stretcher. 'Help me.'

Morzan came to help, and between them they gently lifted Saraswati's body off its stretcher and into the tomb, laying her sword and the urn containing Vandana's ashes beside it. They stood back once this was done, and Galbatorix began to say the funeral rites he had been taught, the ones that should accompany the burial of a rider. 'In death, as in life, let this woman be remembered. Saraswati Sweetsword, daughter of…' he paused, realising he didn't know who Saraswati's parents had been, and then continued, '…let her be remembered for all she was and all she did in life, and let her death be but a final chapter in a glorious book. May she find peace and rest, and may her memory be honoured by friend and foe alike. May none speak ill of her from hereon, for in death all but a man's virtues are forgotten. Courage. Honesty. Integrity. Duty. Justice. Honour. These are the virtues of a rider, and the virtues which Saraswati Sweetsword upheld until her dying day. May peace embrace her now that her journey is ended, may her soul be bound for eternity to that of her dragon, Vandana, as it was in life, that the two of them be united in love until the very ending of the world itself. All this I beseech of the great power of life and death which binds us all, in the names of the great men and dragons of the past. Receive our departed Saraswati Sweetsword now, and be the balm to our grief.' He looked at Morzan and added, 'Let the tomb be sealed.'

The two of them lifted the stone slab into place between them, and once it had been fitted into the hole carved for it Galbatorix spoke a spell over it which made the stone meld into place, sealing the tomb and leaving no trace of a join behind.

After that they had to move on, back through the catacombs, sealing the tombs of the dead riders, one by one. Galbatorix did not know the names of many of them, or even recognise their faces. Had he ever met them? He didn't know.

He didn't falter until they reached the last of the tombs – Carina's. Tranah came forward to help him lift her sister's withered corpse into the recess carved to receive it, and Galbatorix placed Leaf's ashes beside it. Her sword had not been brought into the catacombs, but no-one suggested going to find it.

Galbatorix recited the funeral rites, but when he reached Carina's name he found he couldn't say it. It caught in his throat, choking him, and he turned away, reaching blindly for the wall, dry-eyed and silent.

Tranah quietly took his place and completed the rites, and Morzan helped her seal the tomb. When she had done, she put her hand on Galbatorix's shoulder. 'Come on,' she told him curtly. 'We have work to do.'

He followed her in silence, and they left the catacombs for the tower above. There, several sets of finely-decorated ceremonial armour had been found and laid on a table in one of the dining halls for them to inspect. They chose six of them and took them back into the catacombs for the final part of that night's cold work.

Working together, they armoured the bodies of Roland, Gern, Lalla, Elric, Kaelyn and Strein and entombed them. Galbatorix spoke the rites for each of them as if half-asleep, his gaze fixed on nothing. The others cried and turned to each other for comfort, but he remained utterly silent, his expression vacant and his eyes dry, neither crying not attempting to support them in their grief. Nobody spoke to him.

Strein's tomb was the last. Galbatorix placed her body inside along with Talziri's ashes, but when he picked up her sword in order to lay it on her chest, Tranah came and took it out of his hand.

'Let me keep it,' she said softly.

Galbatorix nodded and moved aside, while she crouched by the open tomb, laying the sword down beside her. Tears running silently down her face, she leaned over Strein's body and kissed her cheek, whispering her name before she withdrew and stood up, holding the brown-bladed sword in her hand.

As Galbatorix began the funeral rites, Tranah began to sob quietly; dry, hoarse, weak sobs that made her shudder gently, her grip tightening on the hilt of her beloved's sword. When Morzan and Ana lifted the slab into place, she turned away and leaned against the opposite wall, her face turned away from them.

Galbatorix stood silently and watched as Morzan went to her, gently touching her arm. 'Tranh…'

Tranah turned around suddenly, her gaze fixed on Galbatorix. 'Did you know?' she said.

Galbatorix said nothing.

'I said, did you know?' Tranah said again. 'Did you know that was going to happen, Galbatorix?'

'Tranah, don't,' said Morzan. 'He didn't plan any of that. It's not his fault.'

Tranah ignored him. 'What was that spell you made us use?' she said in a low, steady voice, though the hand that held Strein's sword was trembling slightly.

Galbatorix finally spoke. 'It was… a healing spell,' he said in a voice that didn't seem to belong to him any more.

'The prisoners,' said Tranah. 'I felt it. We all felt it. Felt what was happening to them before Glaedr came.' She stepped closer, her eyes hard. 'Did you know that was going to happen? Did you know it was going to kill them?'

'Stop it!' Morzan snapped. 'He didn't. He wouldn't-,'

But still Galbatorix said nothing.

Tranah seized him by the front of his robe. 'Answer me!' she snarled. 'I said, did you know? _Did you know?'_

Galbatorix looked away. 'Yes,' he whispered.

Silence followed. Deep, dark silence. Tranah let go of him and backed away, staring at him in disbelief. The others, too, were looking at him, their eyes widening, dull shock showing in their faces.

'No,' said Morzan. 'No, it's not… you didn't…'

Tranah let out a sudden, wild scream and lashed out at him with her free hand, hitting him in the face. His head snapped back as the others shouted, but Tranah came on, teeth bared, drawing back Strein's sword.

Galbatorix freed White Violence and brought it up to meet the brown blade, knocking it aside. His boot connected hard with Tranah's knee, knocking her over, and he leapt at her, pressing White Violence's tip into her throat.

Orwyne and Vander strode forward and pulled him away from her, and Orwyne took White Violence from him. 'Stop it!' she shouted, as Tranah got up and rushed at Galbatorix again. 'Both of you! For gods' sakes, haven't enough people died today?' her voice broke and she hurled White Violence away and left the catacombs.

'Orwyne-,' Vander let go of Galbatorix's shoulder and hurried after her.

Ana looked at Tranah, then at Galbatorix, and silently departed.

Galbatorix, standing by Strein's tomb, looked at Morzan. 'Morzan…'

Morzan's dark eyes were full of bewilderment. 'You lied,' he said softly. 'You lied to us.'

'Morzan, I didn't mean-,'

But Morzan turned away. He took Tuomas by the arm as he passed him. 'C'mon,' he muttered. Tuomas kept glancing back as the other rider led him away, but in moments the two of them had gone. Tranah picked up Strein's sword. She stared at Galbatorix with pure hatred and followed Morzan, leaving him standing there in his bloodstained robe, utterly alone.

Galbatorix stood by Strein's tomb for a long time, still bathed in the glow of his magic. The sound of the departing footsteps of his friends faded away and silence closed in on him from all sides, cold and smothering. He picked up White Violence and stared blankly at it. Its blade was pure white, gleaming with silver veins. Unstained after so long. He pressed the palm of his hand against its edge and pulled it toward the hilt, gritting his teeth as he felt the skin split open. He let go and stared at his palm and the deep cut that went clear across the gedwëy ignaesia, splitting it in half. Blood oozed out onto the silvery skin, and he watched it obsessively… waiting.

Nothing happened. He cradled his hand against his chest and closed his eyes as a pair of cold tears slowly trickled down his face. He had failed and he had lost. Laela had been wrong. His true name had indeed revealed his true nature to him, and now he saw it truly.

'_Destroyer_,' he whispered.

Moving jerkily, he put White Violence back into its sheath and walked away, past the rows of silent tombs, surrounded by the dark and the cold. He did not stop until he reached the first of the chambers, at the base of the stairs, where a tomb lay open. Waiting.

He fell to his knees before it, bowing his head beneath the face that smiled down on him.

'In death, as in life, let this man be remembered,' he whispered. 'Arren Cardockson, son of Cardock and Freyja, born in Teirm, let him be remembered for all he was and all he did in life, and let his death be but a final chapter in a glorious book. May he find peace and rest, and may his memory be honoured by friend and foe alike. May none speak ill of him from hereon, for in death all but a man's virtues are forgotten. Courage… Honesty…' he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small object – a carved wooden comb, decorated with dragons. 'Integrity… Duty… Justice… Honour… These are the virtues of a rider, and the virtues which Arren Cardockson, son of Cardock, upheld until his dying day. May peace embrace him now that his journey is ended, may his soul be bound for eternity to that of his dragon, Laela, as it was in life, that the two of them be united in love until the very ending of the world itself. All this I beseech of the great power of life and death which binds us all, in the names of the great men and dragons of the past. Receive my departed Arren Cardockson, and be the balm to my grief.'

As he spoke the final words, he placed the comb inside the tomb. He took White Violence out of its sheath and laid it down, and then glanced up at the carved image of his old self. 'Let the tomb be sealed,' he said, and climbed into the dark space made to receive his body, so long ago. He reached out with his magic and pulled the stone slab into place, sealing himself inside. The magical light faded as he lay down on his side, listening to the sound of his own breathing. Darkness swallowed him.


	59. Resurrection

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Resurrection

Morzan barely slept that night. He had claimed an empty bedchamber for himself, but though the bed was comfortable and he was exhausted, he could not rest. He lay awake for hours, staring at the darkness, and from time to time he dozed, only to wake up with a jolt of panic. When he finally did sleep, he had nightmares. He was back in the elders' cave, unable to move, pain tearing at him, his ears full of screams. He could hear the voices of everyone he had ever known, screaming his name, pleading with him, cursing him. And above them, drowning them out, was the sound of Galbatorix's mad laughter.

He woke up drenched in sweat, his mind screaming out for Idün.

The red dragon answered almost instantly. _'Morzan!'_

Morzan sat up in bed, breathing rapidly. _'Idün…'_

'_I'm here, Morzan. I'm here. It's all right.'_

But it wasn't, and he knew it. He got out of bed, moving slowly and jerkily, realising as he did so that he was still fully dressed. He hadn't even taken off his boots. Zar'roc's scabbard was still strapped to his back, though the sword itself was leaning against the bedside table. He picked it up and left the room, still calling for Idün. He climbed several flights of stairs until he reached the balcony where she had settled down. She turned toward him as he emerged from the tower, but said nothing.

Morzan sat down between her forelegs, huddling against her massive, scarred chest, and she held onto him, growling softly. _'Rest now,'_ she told him. _'You need sleep.'_

'_I can't,'_ Morzan mumbled. _'I don't… I…'_

'_Sleep,'_ Idün soothed.

Morzan tried to protest, but she widened the channel between their minds and gently fed him a feeling of deep peace and tiredness. It calmed him, and he sighed and let his eyelids droop. A few moments later, he was asleep. Idün, cradling him against her chest, lay still in the darkness, watching over him.

Morzan slept a few hours, and this time his sleep was mercifully dreamless. When he woke up, some hours after dawn, Idün was asleep. He got up, careful not to disturb her, and went inside.

He found his way to the dining room on that level, and found Vander there, chewing listlessly at some bread and cheese. The skinny man glanced up as he entered, but looked away without saying a word.

Morzan sat down opposite him, and Vander wordlessly pushed some bread toward him. He ate it without really tasting it, staring at the tabletop.

'Did you sleep?' Vander asked eventually.

Morzan shook his head.

'I don't think any of us did,' said Vander. 'I've… I checked on Tranah. She's sleeping now. Orwyne's watching her. We thought she might…'

'Carina was her sister,' said Morzan. 'I knew her in Ellesméra. She was a good person.'

'Some of those riders might have joined us,' said Vander. 'They never… he never gave them that chance.'

'Where is he?' said Morzan. 'Have you seen him?'

Vander shook his head.

'Maybe we should… maybe we should look for him.'

Vander sighed and put down his food. 'Yes,' he said. 'We should. He's still our leader. Our oaths still stand.'

Morzan stared out of the window. 'But he could be anywhere,' he said.

'Shruikan's still in the elders' cave,' said Vander. 'He'll know.' He stood up.

'I don't trust that dragon to help with anything,' Morzan growled. 'He's vicious.'

Vander gave him a weary look. 'I don't think-,' he began.

They heard shouts in the corridor outside, and looked sharply toward the door. Morzan got up and hurried to open it, but before he had reached it it opened from the other side and Tuomas burst in, white-faced. 'Sir!' he said, seeing Morzan. 'Sir, I-,'

'Stop that,' Morzan snapped. 'What's up with you?'

Tuomas was trembling. He hunched over slightly, panting. 'Sir, I think something awful's happened,' he said. 'I think…'

Vander came toward him. 'What's happened, Tuomas? Calm down and tell me.'

'I'll show you,' said Tuomas, turning and hurrying out.

Vander and Morzan jogged after him. 'Where is it?' said Morzan.

'It's in the catacombs,' Tuomas called as he broke into a run.

He led them down the endless flights of stairs inside the tower at high speed. They saw very few people along the way; most of the rebel army was occupying the other towers, having more or less deserted this one out of fear of what they thought could be inside it. Morzan and Vander both wanted to ask questions, but Tuomas, who had always been the most athletic of the three apprentices, outpaced them, forcing them to expend all their energy on just keeping up. He didn't stop until he reached the door to the catacombs, which was hanging half-open.

Morzan caught up with him shortly after Vander did, and stopped to catch his breath. 'What the hell's going on, Tuomas?' he gasped.

Tuomas' face was a picture of anxiety. 'Well, I… I came down here this morning. To pray at dawn, like Roland taught me. And I found something. I don't know if – if it means – anything, but I just… I got scared and came to find you.'

'Show me,' said Vander.

Tuomas nodded and ducked through the door, muttering a light-spell that enveloped him in a yellow glow. Vander and Morzan followed, summoning up their own magical illumination to guide them down the staircase into the crypt.

Tuomas led them to the bottom of the stairs and into the first of the chambers, right to the end, and there he halted by something lying on the floor. Morzan came to see it. A white-bladed sword with a silver hilt, set with a black diamond and engraved with a triple-spiral.

'Lord Galbatorix's sword,' Tuomas said in a low voice.

Morzan picked it up. 'Why would he leave it down here? He never lets it out of his sight.'

Tuomas shook his head. 'Look at that,' he said, pointing at the opposite wall.

Morzan looked. 'It's just another tomb,' he said blankly.

'But look at the carving,' said Tuomas.

Vander moved closer, peering at the stone. He became still. 'It looks just like…'

'Like who? What in hell are you going on about?' said Morzan.

Vander gestured at him to come closer. 'Look at that,' he said.

Morzan impatiently examined the carving for a moment, and then he stilled. His heart seemed to slow in its beating. 'Vander, that's-,'

Vander nodded slowly. 'He looks different with a beard, but it's him. Look.' He touched the name carved beside the image. '"Arren Cardockson". It's his tomb.'

'But it's closed,' said Morzan. 'Why would it be closed?'

Vander only stared at him.

Morzan's expression changed. 'Oh gods.'

Without another word, the two of them started to scrabble desperately at the stone slab, trying to pull it out. But it was set perfectly into place, so tightly that the join was barely visible. Morzan shoved Vander out of the way and stepped back, holding out his hand. '_Reisa!_' he barked.

Slowly – painfully slowly – the slab moved toward him, lifting out of its place with a grinding of stone on stone. Before Morzan had even put it aside, Vander was already on his knees, peering into the space beyond. '_Xanathus mu trieto_,' he breathed.

Morzan dropped the slab against the opposite wall and rushed to join him. He and Tuomas crouched by the open tomb, letting their light show them what was inside.

Galbatorix lay curled up on his side, his pale face turned toward them. One hand rested on the floor by his chin and the other one was clutching a small wooden comb. His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving.

'Is he… dead?' Tuomas faltered.

Vander reached out to touch him, but withdrew. 'He must have suffocated,' he said dully.

'But why?' said Morzan. 'How did he get in here?'

'Isn't it _obvious?'_ Vander snapped, impatient with him for almost the first time since they had met. 'He sealed himself in here after we left. He must have been lying here all night.'

'Why would he have done that?' said Tuomas.

'I don't know,' said Vander. 'Maybe he wanted to die.'

Morzan straightened up. 'What are we going to do?'

'Tell the others, I suppose,' said Vander.

Morzan stared at Galbatorix's cold body. 'You godsdamned coward,' he whispered. 'You bloody coward. First you lie to us, and then you bail out on us.' He stood up and turned away, shaking his head. 'How could he do this to us? How could…? I _trusted _him. Trusted him like he was my brother. And then he goes and does…'

'But we still needed him,' said Vander. 'The whole country did.'

'What are you talking about?' Morzan demanded.

'Morzan, he was our leader, no matter what else he was,' said Vander. 'Of all the riders left alive, he was the only one capable of taking Vrael's place. The people wanted him to lead. He was the natural choice. And now he's gone, the whole country will fall into chaos. It needs a ruler. Without one, there'll be anarchy.'

Morzan's fists clenched. 'We'll just have to find someone else.'

'Who?' said Vander. 'You? Me? Orwyne? Maybe Roland could have done it, but…'

Tuomas didn't want to be caught up in the argument that was threatening to break out. He stayed where he was as the two older riders carried on at each other, not certain of what to do. He wanted to leave but they were in the way, so he stayed crouched awkwardly by the tomb, staring at Galbatorix's body, still not quite able to believe what had happened.

He had seen death before, naturally, and by now the sight of a dead body was practically mundane, but this was different. The bodies he had seen the night before were not just those of some faceless enemy, and nor was this. He stared at his master's white face, not quite able to grasp the idea that he was gone forever. Kaelyn had died, and Gern, and Roland, and so many others, but somehow the idea that Galbatorix could die had never really occurred to Tuomas, even when he had seen him wounded. After his miraculous escape at Gil'ead, he had become invincible in the eyes of his followers. From time to time Tuomas had even wondered if the stories told about him by the common people were true, and that he really was unkillable. But he was dead now, just like the others, and Tuomas knew he would have to accept it. _You cannot deny death,_ Roland had once told him. _Just as you cannot deny life. Not even a mountain is eternal, and we are rather less so._

Tuomas shuddered, fighting back tears. He forced himself to look at Galbatorix again. 'Goodbye, Master,' he whispered, and reached out to touch his hand.

The instant he made contact, he yelped and pulled away.

Neither Morzan nor Vander noticed. '-Well, you tell them what the hell you like,' said Morzan, dangerously close to violence. 'I've had enough. I'm out of here. Idün and me are leaving this godsforsaken country, and good luck to the rest of you, because-,'

'Sir!' Tuomas shouted. 'Sir, come here-!'

Morzan turned on him. _'What?'_ he snarled.

Tuomas' eyes were wide. 'Sir, he's not dead,' he said.

'What?' Morzan said again.

Tuomas looked at Vander. 'Sir, Vander, he's not dead.'

Vander came to join him. 'Tuomas, I really don't think-,'

'Vander, he's alive,' Tuomas said again. 'Touch him – check his pulse.'

'Tuomas, there's no way he can be alive,' said Vander. 'He's been in there all night without air.'

'I'm telling you I felt a heartbeat!' Tuomas insisted. 'He's not dead – look, damn it, look!'

Galbatorix's eyelids were twitching. Even as Vander pulled back, wide-eyed with fright, he groaned and moved his hand.

Tuomas reached into the tomb and shook him by the shoulder. 'Master! Master, wake up!'

Galbatorix was still for a moment, but then his mouth opened and he sucked in a great gasp of air. His entire body jerked once and he started to cough violently, turning over onto his front. Morzan was there instantly. He grabbed his leader by the arm and dragged him out of the tomb with one powerful heave, and Galbatorix slumped on his back on the floor, coughing. His eyes opened and he scrabbled at the floor, trying to get up.

Vander crouched beside him. 'Sir! Sir, calm down, it's just us.'

Galbatorix, breathing heavily, subsided onto the floor. 'What – what-?'

'It's Vander,' said Vander. 'Just rest a moment.'

But Galbatorix wouldn't. He got up after a few more tries and some help, and leaned against the wall behind him, his breathing fast and ragged. He put a hand to his chest. 'I feel like… something heavy… in here. What – what's going on?'

Morzan was gaping at him. 'Sir?' he said.

Galbatorix looked at him. 'Morzan? What's – what's wrong?'

Vander grabbed his hand, pulling the sleeve away to touch his wrist. Galbatorix didn't try and resist, and watched with a slightly bemused expression as Vander laid two fingers on his wrist and kept them there for a few moments, apparently listening for something.

'Vander, what in the world are you doing?'

Vander let go and took a few steps backward. 'Your… your heart's beating.'

'Is it? That's a relief.' Galbatorix looked at the open tomb, and suddenly stilled. 'Vander, what happened? Where have I been?'

Morzan finally found his voice. 'Sir… you're…'

'I'm what?'

'You're _alive.'_

Galbatorix said nothing for a long time. 'Yes,' he said eventually. 'So it would seem. Why am I down here?'

'You don't know?' said Vander.

Galbatorix looked at the tomb for a while. 'I was in there, wasn't I? Yes… I remember that.'

'We found you in there, Master,' said Tuomas. 'We thought you were dead.'

'Sir, how long were you in there?' said Vander.

Galbatorix fiddled with his hair. 'I don't know,' he said. 'What day is it?'

'It's tomorrow,' said Vander. 'Well past dawn.'

'Oh.'

'Sir, what were you doing in there?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix stared at the floor. 'I was… saying goodbye,' he said.

'To who?'

'To someone I knew once. Or thought I knew. But it doesn't matter. He's dead now. Morzan, are… how are the others?'

'Tranah's asleep, I think,' said Morzan. 'Haven't seen her yet. Orwyne's with her.'

'What about you? And you, Vander? And you, Tuomas?'

'I'm all right,' Tuomas mumbled. 'I suppose.'

'I think I'll be all right, sir,' said Vander.

Galbatorix looked at Morzan. 'And you?'

'Fine,' Morzan said curtly.

Galbatorix looked at him for a moment, and they could see that the blank, empty look that had been in his eyes on the previous night had gone. He was alive. More than alive. Their leader had come back to them.

But Galbatorix quickly looked away. 'I've made a terrible mistake,' he said in an undertone, staring at the floor. 'And I know… I know no-one will ever forgive me for it, and that includes myself. If I thought apologising would fix it, then I would. But I know it won't. There's nothing I can ever do to reverse it, and I know it.'

'What are you going to do now, sir?' said Vander.

Galbatorix saw his sword, lying on the floor where Morzan had dropped it. He held out a hand, and the weapon shot upward into his grasp. He stared at it for a moment, and then put it into its sheath, moving with a new resolve. 'I'm going to do what I was born to do,' he said. 'The only thing I have left. I am going to hunt down Vrael, and I am going to kill him.'

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and began to walk away from the still-open tomb, and they could see that he still had his old grace.

Vander, Morzan and Tuomas followed him automatically. 'You're not leaving now, are you?' said Vander.

Galbatorix paused at the bottom of the stairs. 'Yes,' he said, and started to climb them.

Vander caught up with him at the top. 'Sir, d'you really think that's a good idea?'

Galbatorix glanced impatiently at him. 'Yes, Vander, I do.'

'But… well, shouldn't you take someone with you?' Vander mumbled.

Galbatorix laughed bitterly. 'Why? For protection? Because I might die?'

'Well, yes,' said Vander.

'Vander,' said Galbatorix. 'If I died, no-one would care. And I don't think I would either.' He strode off without another word, his blood-stained robe swirling behind him.

Vander, Morzan and Tuomas stayed by the door, watching him go.

Morzan glanced at Vander. 'Aren't you going to go after him?'

'Well, why don't you?' said Vander.

'It's not my fight,' said Morzan. 'And he doesn't want me to come. And I don't want to come either. I've murdered enough people.'

'But he might need your protection,' said Vander.

Morzan only snorted. 'He needs me about as much as he needs an extra head. Let him go. If he ever shows his face here again….'

'You'll do what?' said Vander.

Morzan didn't answer. He hesitated, muttered and then walked off.

Tuomas watched him go. 'What happens now, sir?' he asked in a small voice.

'I don't know, Tuomas,' said Vander. 'I thought I did, but now… I suppose all we can do is wait.'

'And what do we do while we're doing that?' said Tuomas.

Vander shrugged bitterly. 'Our duty, of course.'

Galbatorix found Shruikan waiting for him outside the tower. The black dragon had sensed his coming and flown down to meet him, and when he saw him he came to him and nuzzled his shoulder affectionately – something almost completely out of character for him. _'Galbatorix. I missed you.'_

Galbatorix scratched Shruikan's brow ridge. _'I'm glad I met you, Shruikan. You know that, don't you?'_

'_Yes. I know it. Are you better now?'_

'_As much as I'll ever be, I think.'_

Shruikan growled. _'You're still troubled. What is it?'_

'_They hate me, Shruikan. I can feel it. I betrayed them. It's my fault – what happened last night… it was all my doing, and they know it.'_

'_It wasn't your fault,'_ said Shruikan. _'It was Glaedr's. Don't they know that?'_

'_No. It was my fault. The spell was already killing the prisoners before Glaedr came. We could feel it happening. I didn't _know,_ Shruikan. I knew it would kill them, but I didn't… I never… I lied to them. Lied to their faces. I told them it wouldn't kill them. I betrayed the people closest to me. I betrayed…'_

Shruikan whined softly. _'What are you going to do?'_

'_There's nothing I can do. They were right. They were right about me, Shruikan. Everything people said about me was true. I am a monster.'_

'_You're not,'_ Shruikan said fiercely. _'Don't ever say that, Galbatorix.'_

'_No, Shruikan. I can see it now. A monster is what I am and a monster is what I'll always be. But it doesn't matter any more. We have one last fight left before we can rest. One last thing left to do before it's all over. And after that it won't matter where we go or what we do any more. Arren Cardockson is dead now. I said goodbye to him forever, last night. He'll rest forever in the catacombs, with Laela. He's gone, and only Galbatorix is left. And Galbatorix was born to fulfil one purpose alone.'_

'_Vrael,'_ said Shruikan.

'_Yes. Will you help me, Shruikan?'_

Shruikan crouched low. _'Get on my back,'_ he said.

Galbatorix climbed into the saddle and secured himself in place. He felt Shruikan tense under him, his powerful muscles bunching before he took off, flying straight upwards from the ground and circling over the city before he left it, heading out over the countryside and away.

In the legends that would be told one day about the life of Galbatorix Taranisäii, the storytellers would nearly all make the same claim about his last, solitary hunt for Vrael. According to them, he found his old master's hiding-place within two days – flying straight for it as if he somehow already knew where it was. Some claimed that an elf, made bitter by Vrael's failure to destroy the rebels, betrayed him to his enemy. Others said that Galbatorix discovered his whereabouts in a dream, or that he used forbidden magic to unearth it.

In fact, it was far less straightforward and mysterious than that. Galbatorix and Shruikan flew over Alagaësia for over a week, moving from place to place, stopping at every town and village to ask the locals if they had seen a white dragon. Those who Galbatorix spoke to would describe him to their grandchildren; a tall, thin young man, barely into his twenties, his voice and gaze full of terrible authority, who carried an aura of fear and dread about him, as if he were marked by some curse as dark as his eyes.

Few people had the courage to refuse to help him. Those who had no information for him gave him food and shelter, some out of fear and others out of genuine respect.

For a long time, however, it seemed there was no trail for Galbatorix to follow. He spoke to dozens of people, but the only information he got was frustratingly vague. A few rumours, brief sightings, various theories, but nothing concrete, nothing that suggested a clear route to take. He kept on doggedly, steadily quartering the country, bit by bit, asking questions, flying through day and night, endlessly watching the skies. Nothing. And then, at last, having reached the edge of Ellesméra after over seven days of constant travelling, he stopped at a tiny village called Tärlee. He made camp at the outskirts of the little cluster of huts that made up the village, and washed his robe in the stream. While he sat by the black fire he had lit, combing his hair while his robe dried over the flames, he saw a man standing at the edge of his camp, glancing nervously at Shruikan.

'Come here,' Galbatorix told him. 'You're safe.'

The man hesitated, and then came toward him. 'My Lord,' he said. 'Are you…?'

'Yes,' said Galbatorix. 'I am Galbatorix. What do you want?'

'They say you're hunting for L- for Vrael,' said the man.

Galbatorix nodded. 'Do you have information for me?'

The man glanced over his shoulder, and then lowered his voice. 'I know where he is, my Lord. The whole village knows. He came here two months ago and told us to keep it a secret. People have been taking food to him, but we all knew you would come here in the end to look for him. I decided to help you.'

Galbatorix stood up. 'Where is he?'

The man took in a deep breath. 'Not far from here. He's at a place called _Einn-Viđr Fell_. We call it One-Tree Hill.'


	60. EinnViđr Fell

Chapter Sixty

Einn-Viđr Fell

It did not take Galbatorix long to find the place called One-Tree Hill. It was Westwards from Tärlee, at the very edge of the forest, close to some farmland. It was easy enough to see how it had got its name; the hill's sides were bare, but at the very top there was a single tree reaching up into the sky, silhouetted against the setting sun.

Galbatorix and Shruikan approached it on the ground, keeping to the edge of the forest to stay hidden. Neither of them could see any sign of a dragon by the hill, but Shruikan raised his head to scent the breeze. _'He's there,'_ he said.

Galbatorix stared intently at the hilltop. _'We have to come at them from the air. Running up the hill would put us at a disadvantage. But we need to know where they are first.'_

Shruikan looked upwards. _'We should wait until dark. But before that…'_

'_Wait here a moment,'_ said Galbatorix. He walked on a short way, until he was as close to the hill as he dared go. At the very edge of the forest, he selected a handy tree and nimbly climbed into its branches. It was a tall oak, perfectly suited for climbing, and he went as high into its branches as he dared before he stopped and peered intently at the hill, searching for anything that could be Vrael or some sign of his camp. There was a shape by the roots of the single tree, but it was too far away for him to be certain of whether it was a figure or not. He thought quickly, and muttered a few words in the ancient language. A tiny window opened in the air, and he stared intently through it, willing it to show him what was under the tree.

His heart leapt. _Vrael_. He could see him now, as clearly as if he were sitting right next to him. The old elf was sitting cross-legged under the tree, eating something. There was a twisted scar on the side of his neck, a relic of Vroengard, and his fine white hair fluttered in the wind as he looked up, pale eyes scanning the landscape. For a moment they stared directly at him, and he drew back instinctively, heart pounding. But Vrael's gaze moved on and Galbatorix relaxed and banished the magical window. _'He's there,'_ he told Shruikan. _'Alone. Where could Nöst be?'_

'_Flying overhead, most likely,'_ said Shruikan. _'The forest couldn't hide him. He'll be keeping watch.'_

Galbatorix stayed in the tree, scanning the sky as the first of the stars began to come out. If Nöst was up there then he was flying very high – too high, most likely, to spot Shruikan on the ground, especially now the light was fading. He briefly considered searching for the white dragon's mind, but decided against it. It would alert him instantly. _'If he's up there, he'll come down,'_ he decided. _'He can't stay up there all night. It'll be too dark for him to see anything anyway.'_

'_Keep watching until the moon rises,'_ Shruikan advised.

Galbatorix settled down in the branches to wait, pulling his robe around him. Time trickled by and the last of the stars came out as the sky slowly turned the colour of Shruikan's scales. The last of the sunset faded. In moments it would be full night. And then, just as Galbatorix was thinking of climbing down again, Shruikan's voice shouted in his head. _'He's coming! Look!'_

Galbatorix looked up sharply. For a few moments he saw nothing, but then his heart started to pound as he saw a massive shadow descend from the sky. The starlight gleamed faintly on rows of white scales, and he heard the faint thud as Nöst landed on the hilltop by the tree.

He grinned in the darkness, and slid down out of the tree as fast as he could go. He ran to the spot where Shruikan waited, and vaulted onto his back. Shruikan turned and loped away from the hill at high speed, his talons almost completely silent on the leaf-litter. His wings unfurled as he emerged into the open air, and he launched himself off the ground with one smooth movement.

Galbatorix held on tightly as the black dragon spiralled upward, his shape outlined against the stars. From somewhere overhead he heard the sound of thunder rumbling. Shruikan was summoning the storm. Even as he turned in the air and flew toward the hill, the sky above them became darker still with cloud. The thunder grew still louder, and lightning began to crackle around Shruikan's wings.

He circled over the hill for a time, letting the storm gather its power. The thunder rumbled and growled, roaring like an angry dragon, one mightier than Shruikan, or Nöst, or any other dragon but one.

Galbatorix, holding onto Shruikan's neck, felt the dragon's heart pounding through his skin. _'Now?'_ he whispered.

'_Now.'_

Shruikan dived. He put his head down and dropped from the sky, folding his wings back as tightly as he could, just as he had done in Ilirea. Galbatorix clung on tightly, bracing himself for the impact. The ground rushed up to meet them, faster and faster, a great moving shadow hurtling toward them. But it was not all dark. No, there was a patch of pure whiteness below them. White as snow.

Nöst looked up the instant before Shruikan reached him. The white dragon let out the beginnings of a scream, and then Shruikan hit him. He struck Nöst square in the back, and his outstretched claws tore clean through the other dragon's right wing, shattering the bone and ripping the membrane to shreds.

Shruikan's momentum carried him on, straight through the ruined wing, and his claws drove into Nöst's flank, giving him the purchase he needed to stop himself before he smashed into the ground. The black dragon landed belly-first on Nöst's back, injuring himself on the spikes, but he extricated himself as Nöst's head swung around toward him, landing neatly on his paws. Nöst, bellowing in agony and shock, rose up onto his hind legs, his mouth opening to belch white fire at Shruikan. But the black dragon was faster than he was. He ducked under Nöst's head and ran toward the tree, putting it between himself and his enemy. Nöst began to go after him, but his wounded wing would no longer fold. It dragged on the ground, gushing blood, and he screamed and slumped onto his belly, trying pathetically to reach the wound with his snout.

Galbatorix leapt off Shruikan's back, drawing his sword almost instantly, and not a moment too soon. Vrael had risen from his place by the tree, and his hand was already rising, glowing with magic.

'_Hlíf!'_ Galbatorix yelled. The shielding spell, hastily summoned, deflected Vrael's first attack just in time, and he dodged around the tree and rushed at his former master, side-on. Vrael span around to face him, and another spell narrowly missed him. It burned a patch of bark away from the great tree, and passed so close to Galbatorix's head that it singed his hair.

'Brisingr!' black flames sprang up from the ground in front of Vrael, and the old elf instinctively reeled away, raising his hand to send water at it and put it out.

Galbatorix took advantage of the distraction in the blink of an eye. He hurled a ball of concentrated, raw energy at Vrael, hitting him in the stomach and bowling him over. Vrael vaulted upright with astonishing grace, and spoke a spell that made a dozen rocks rise from the ground and hurl themselves at Galbatorix. He blocked them with another shielding spell and lashed out with his mind, hoping to break through his mental defences. Vrael struck back powerfully, sending a wave of hot pain through his skull, and ran at him, straight through the wall of black fire.

But Galbatorix was not defeated yet. He shook his head quickly, dispelling the red light flashing in front of his eyes, and dodged around the tree to avoid Vrael's next assault. The old elf followed him, moving with alarming speed. Galbatorix leapt at him from behind the tree-trunk, and his fist connected with Vrael's chin, knocking him backward.

Vrael staggered and nearly fell over, but he recovered quickly and ran back the other way, catching up with Galbatorix on the other side of the tree, close to where Nöst lay. He threw a barrage of white fireballs at him, thick and fast – too fast for Galbatorix to block them. He darted off toward Nöst in order to avoid them, which proved to be a mistake. The white dragon lashed out with his tail, sending him flying.

He landed across the roots of the tree with a loud thump and a blast of pain that made his entire world flash red for the fraction of a second. As he struggled desperately to get up, Shruikan rushed to defend him. Vrael avoided the dragon's talons and drew his sword, swinging it toward him with lightning speed.

Shruikan was not used to fighting an opponent armed with a sword, but the black dragon's ferocious nature prevented him from hesitating for more than an eyeblink. He opened his mouth wide and blew a stream of black and silver fire directly at Vrael. The elf blocked it with magic and charged straight at him, sword raised. Even as Shruikan swung around to face him, the white blade hit him in the forelegs, tearing a pair of deep wounds over the joints.

Shruikan bellowed as his front legs folded beneath him and he landed hard on his chest. Nöst was already rising to come after him, mouth agape, and the black dragon scrambled desperately away from him, trying to find shelter behind the tree.

Vrael went after him, sword raised, eyes fixed intently on his vulnerable hindquarters, but as he neared the tree, a powerful blow smashed into the side of his face, nearly knocking him over.

Galbatorix was on his feet, and White Violence was in his hand. Vrael, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, swung around to face him. Snœr'ónd came down in a powerful sweep, straight for Galbatorix's neck. But he moved backward, bringing White Violence up to block it, and the two white blades connected with a clash that matched the thunder still raging overhead. Vrael found his balance and drove forward, putting his full weight behind his blade, mouth opening to scream. _'BETRAYER!'_

Galbatorix backed away steadily, dodging most of Vrael's blows and deflecting the rest, making no attempt to make any attacks of his own, his face locked in concentration. He ended up with his back to the tree, unable to go any further, as Vrael swung Snœr'ónd at him with all his might, screaming his hatred. And still he did not try and strike back. He blocked the first few blows, and when the next one came in, aimed at his arm, he deflected it with a powerful flick of White Violence's blade, nearly knocking it out of Vrael's grasp. In the same instant, he braced himself against the tree and shoved forward as hard as he could. His knee came up, catching Vrael in the groin, and the elf screamed and staggered backward. In an instant Galbatorix came after him, raising White Violence. Now it was Vrael who was on the defensive. Galbatorix came on, bringing his sword down again and again as if it were a club rather than a sword. Vrael managed to block it, but the blows landing on Snœr'ónd's blade were so powerful that they threatened to disarm him at any moment, and he had no room to summon up his magic. And still Galbatorix came on, his teeth bared in a snarl. As White Violence struck, he started to speak, gritting the words out, one by one. '_Earth – born – fire – forged – magic – blessed – water – soothed-_,'

Vrael tried desperately to hold his own, dodging this way and that and getting in his own blows wherever he could, but fear had hold of him, overwhelming his senses. In his head, he heard Nöst's voice. _'FIGHT, VRAEL! FIGHT!'_

It put new strength into him. He ducked in under Galbatorix's arm and brought Snœr'ónd around in a powerful, reckless sweep. It hit Galbatorix in the side, cutting deeply into his flesh. Blood spurted out, splattering onto Vrael's face, and Galbatorix let out an unearthly scream. Vrael hit him again, on the leg, hurling him violently to the ground. He hit hard, yelling in pain, blood soaking into his robe, while over by the tree Shruikan fell onto his side and started to thrash desperately, roaring.

Vrael stood over his enemy, gasping for breath, his sword stained with Galbatorix's blood. At his feet, Galbatorix struggled to get up, but his hand kept slipping out from beneath him. His head fell back, and he started to sob softly, wracked by mortal agony.

Vrael pointed Snœr'ónd at him. 'So this is how you die,' he snarled. 'Alone. Where are your friends now, half-breed? Who will save you now? Who will mourn over you?'

Thunder crashed overhead, deafeningly loud, splitting the sky with white lightning.

Vrael started to laugh madly. 'Who will mourn?' he screeched. 'Who will mourn for the murderer? Who will mourn? Where will your tomb be? Who will shed a tear there?'

Galbatorix gathered his hands beneath him and managed to lift himself into a sitting position, but his strength failed him and he slumped back and became still, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Vrael watched him in silence until he stopped breathing, then stepped toward him, moving delicately, like a cat. He stood looking down at him for a few moments, and then spat on him. 'No-one will,' he said softly.

He kicked Galbatorix's body and spat on it again, and then turned away, stone-faced. He could see Shruikan, still alive, lying quite still by the base of the tree. Overhead, the storm raged on. A powerful wind descended on the hilltop, tearing at the branches of the tree and sending its leaves flying away over the forest of Du Weldenvarden.

Vrael began to walk toward the black dragon. 'And you,' he rasped. 'Shruikan Stormscales, son of the Night Dragon, slave of the half-breed, monster among dragons… I will send you to join your master in the shadows where you belong.'

As he came on, raising his sword, he heard something behind him. He turned sharply.

Galbatorix was getting up. Blood was still dripping from his side, but he ignored it. He slowly climbed to his feet, clutching his sword in one hand. Lightning flashed in his eyes, and Vrael's blood ran cold. 'No,' he whispered. 'No!'

Galbatorix said nothing. He straightened up, flexing his shoulders so that his back cracked. 'Vrael,' he whispered.

Vrael started toward him. 'Just die!' he screamed, and swung his sword as hard as he could. He hit Galbatorix in the chest, inflicting a deep and terrible wound. Galbatorix shuddered violently and cried out, the hand that held his sword twitching and juddering under the impact, but still he did not fall.

'Die!' Vrael said again. '_Why won't you die?_'

Galbatorix did not move. 'Vrael,' he whispered again, blood trickling from the wound in his chest. 'What did you do with my daughter?'

Vrael pulled himself together. 'The creature was destroyed,' he said coldly. 'I saw to it myself.'

Galbatorix became very still. Not a muscle moved in his face. White Violence rose until it was level with his chest, pointing forward. And then, quite suddenly, he screamed. The sound tore from his throat, and he charged.

But not at Vrael.

Galbatorix turned and ran as fast as he could, leaning forward, putting all his weight behind his sword, aiming it straight at Nöst. And as he ran, he screamed a word. A name.

'_LAELA!'_

White Violence hit Nöst directly in the chest. Galbatorix's weight drove it straight through the white dragon's scales, through his flesh and his ribs, directly into his heart. Nöst's head snapped upward, toward the sky, and he screamed. Blood poured out of his chest as he struggled wildly to pull away, wings twitching convulsively. But his legs would not support him. He rolled over onto his side, his mouth stretching into a rigid snarl of agony. Blood started to run from between his jaws, and he groaned and became still, the light fading from his golden eyes.

Snœr'ónd dropped out of Vrael's hand. The white-haired elf fell backward, hurled to the ground by an invisible force, hitting the trunk of the tree.

And the Lord of the Riders screamed. He screamed and screamed, writhing on the ground as if he were being struck from all sides, his limbs flailing wildly, shaking and twitching. And all the while, he screamed. Screamed as his heart was ripped into pieces inside him, destroying him, taking away his joy, his life and his very being and hurling him into a darkness which consumed him utterly, taking away everything he had. Even his name.

And as he fell, his mind cried out. _'NÖST! NÖST!'_

But there was no reply, and there never would be again.

It started to rain. Galbatorix, standing by Nöst's body, felt the water fall onto him, slicking his hair to his head and wetting his robe, washing away the blood. He stood still, lifting his face to the sky and letting the drops fall onto his face. And, just for a moment, he smiled.

A groan came from over by the tree, and he looked down toward it. He could see Vrael, moving slightly where he lay. Alive.

Galbatorix took hold of White Violence's hilt and wrenched it out of Nöst's chest. He walked toward the tree, but he went straight past Vrael as if he were not there, his gaze fixed on Shruikan. The black dragon was trying to get up, but his wounded forelegs refused to support him.

'Lie still,' Galbatorix told him gently. He spread his hand over the wounds. 'Waíse heill.'

He did not stop the flow of magic until the healing was complete and Shruikan could stand. _'Are you hurt?'_ the black dragon asked.

Galbatorix shook his head and patted Shruikan's shoulder. He took something from the dragon's saddle and turned away, walking back toward the tree. Vrael was still lying where he had fallen, spreadeagled. He was crying.

Galbatorix stood over him, sword in hand, and Vrael looked up at him, his dulled eyes widening with fear.

But then Galbatorix put the sword back into its sheath. He bent and lifted Vrael to his feet, and the elf put up no more than a feeble resistance as he tied his hands behind his back.

'Nöst…' Vrael whispered.

Galbatorix threw him down. 'He's dead,' he sneered. 'Serves you right, going out into the wilderness on your own like that. What were you thinking? Your stupidity cost you your dragon's life. Why didn't you come back to Ilirea? We were looking for you for months.'

Vrael said nothing. He lay half-collapsed against the tree's rough trunk, mumbling to himself. Galbatorix found a low-hanging branch and grabbed hold of it, lifting himself off the ground to test its strength. It held up under his weight, and he took the coil of rope he had taken from Shruikan's saddle and tied one end to it, tugging it to make sure it was secure. Satisfied, he tied the other end into a noose.

'You leave me no choice,' he said as he worked. 'I must pass sentences on you now. Vrael Linison of Ellesméra, for the crimes of high treason, abuse of power, several counts of murder and acts of genocide too numerous to mention here, infantacide, fornication with a member of a different race, cowardice on the battlefield, racial discrimination and deception of the people, you will suffer the punishment as laid out by the Council of the Rider Elders during the year of the Dwarvish Rebellion.' He wrapped the rope around the tree a few more times to make sure the noose was at head height, and turned to look at Vrael. 'Have you anything to say before justice is done upon you?'

Vrael struggled to get up, but his legs gave way and he fell back, grazing his head against the tree. 'Nöst,' he said again. 'Nöst…'

Galbatorix laughed. He pointed at Vrael. 'The elf is insane,' he jeered. 'Well, it's only to be expected. Losing his dragon has a bad effect on a rider's mind, don't you think?'

Vrael started to sob.

Galbatorix strode forward and lifted him to his feet, gripping him tightly by the back of the neck. 'Who will mourn over your tomb, Vrael?' he rasped in the elf's ear. 'Who will shed a tear for you? Who will care?' he dragged him toward the noose. There, he shoved a large rock into place and forced him to stand on it. He looped the noose around Vrael's neck, pulling it tight. 'No-one will,' he said, and kicked the rock out from beneath him.

Vrael dropped. He hung from the rope, his legs jerking, a horrible rasping, gurgling sound coming from his throat. His hands, bound behind him, contorted into grasping claws, and his entire body started to convulse.

Galbatorix stood by, watching him slowly strangle to death. As Vrael's face gradually turned blue, he began to chant softly. 'The red dwarves,' he said. 'The silver elves. The yellowskins, the sandpeople, the unicorn herders, the werewolves, the shapeshifters, the dark elves, the Drei'totza, the Durgians, the tree folk, the weredragons, the plains dragons, the sea-serpents, the urgals, the Ra'zac, the Shades.' He drew his sword, his eyes fixed on Vrael's face. 'Roland of the Three Peaks. Tranah Fenixdaughter and Strein Daretborn. Tuomas, Gern and Kaelyn of Gil'ead. Morzan Drasborn, Vander and Ymazu of the Hadarac, Orwyne Redwyn. Skandar Traeganni. Ingë Taranisäii. Cardock Arinuson. Freyja Sarthdaughter.'

Foam started to form on Vrael's lips. His struggles grew steadily weaker. He was dying.

Galbatorix pressed the tip of White Violence into the elf's abdomen, just below his ribcage. 'Arren Cardockson,' he said, and pushed the blade inwards and downwards in one powerful motion.

It cut cleanly through Vrael's clothes and into the skin and flesh beneath, and his intestines spilled out, glistening and horrible in the stormlight. He let out a rasping, strangled scream, blood bubbling between his teeth.

Galbatorix lifted White Violence above his shoulder, gripping the hilt in both hands. '_ARREN CARDOCKSON!_' he screamed, and swung the sword with all his might.

Vrael's body hit the ground and rolled over onto the grass. A few seconds later, his head came to rest among the roots of the tree.

Galbatorix stood still for a time, his arm still raised, breathing heavily. Lightning flashed again from overhead, and he let go of the sword and slumped into a sitting position. His chest and side hurt, and he peeled his robe away from the skin to examine the wounds.

The wound in his side had exposed three of his ribs. He stared blankly at it. 'Shruikan, look at that,' he said, standing up and staggering toward him. 'I can see… look, you can see the bone.'

Shruikan angled his head away from it. _'Don't show it to me! Heal it, for gods' sakes!'_

Galbatorix stopped, swaying slightly. 'Vrael's dead,' he said, blinking.

'_I know. Galbatorix, heal yourself, now. Before you faint.'_

'_All right…'_ he spread his hand over the wound and spoke the healing spell. Shruikan lent him some of his own energy to complete it, and the white bone gradually disappeared, leaving a deep, puckered scar behind. The wound on his chest was equally bad, but he healed it as well. When he had done, he looked at his hand, flexing it experimentally. Why wasn't he tired? He had used enough magic to kill himself twice over, but he felt as if he had done nothing more strenuous than heal a bruise.

He dismissed the thought. There were more important things to do. He walked back to the tree, and picked up Vrael's severed head by the hair. The grisly trophy dangled from his hand, dripping blood from the neck. Shruikan, who had followed him, sniffed at it and then gave Galbatorix a hopeful look.

Galbatorix pushed him away. _'Don't even think about it. This is mine. But you can have the rest.'_

Shruikan grinned a broad dragon-grin and tore into Vrael's body, ripping it apart. While he ate, Galbatorix took a rough cloth sack from his saddle and took out the apples it contained, stowing them away in his pockets. Once it was empty, he stuffed Vrael's head inside and tied the neck closed before he hung it on the saddle. The elf's sword was lying on the grass a short distance away, and he picked it up and tied it to the saddle next to the bag.

Shruikan finished his meal, and lay down under the tree, sighing.

Galbatorix sat next to him. _'I did it,'_ he said. _'I can't believe I…'_

Shruikan nudged him gently with his snout. _'You have won, Galbatorix.'_

'_Yes…'_

Galbatorix stared at his hands, trying to make himself grasp what had happened. Vrael was dead. The war was over. He had finally had his revenge.

But, as the storm began to subside in the air over One-Tree Hill, he felt more empty inside than he had ever done in his life.


	61. The Conquerer's Throne

Chapter Sixty-One

The Conqueror's Throne

Galbatorix came back to Ilirea just as quietly and anonymously as he had left it. Shruikan flew up to the entrance of the elders' cave at midday, about a week after Vrael's death.

They had seen him coming. When Shruikan landed at the centre of the cave he found the others already there, standing silently in a semicircle, waiting.

Galbatorix dismounted and walked toward them, the clinking of his boots the only sound in the cave. Morzan, Tranah, Orwyne, Ana, Vander and Tuomas stood still, watching his approach, and he halted at the centre of the circle and threw Vrael's sword down at their feet. He took the severed head out of its bag and held it up for them all to see, and he saw them blink and shift slightly where they stood.

'Vrael is dead,' he intoned. 'I have kept my promise.'

No-one spoke. The surviving members of the Forsworn glanced at each other and then looked at him once more, stone-faced.

Galbatorix looked at the ground. 'I didn't think you'd still be here,' he said quietly.

'We had no choice,' Vander said at last. 'We must do our duty.'

'Consider it done,' said Galbatorix. 'The war is over and Alagaësia is free. You can do whatever you choose from now on. As for me, I'm leaving.'

'Leaving to go where?' Morzan demanded.

Galbatorix glanced over his shoulder, toward the entrance and the open sky beyond. 'Shruikan and I are leaving the country,' he said. 'We're going away over the sea. There's nothing for me here any more. I want to look for… for someone.'

'You can't do that… sir,' said Vander. 'We need you here.'

Galbatorix laughed bitterly. 'No-one needs me.'

'Yes we do,' Orwyne said sharply. 'It's too late for you to turn your back on us now, sir. The country is yours to rule. Take Vrael's place.'

'No. I won't.'

'Sir, the country needs a ruler,' said Vander. 'Civil war is already breaking out. If you don't do something soon, thousands of people will die.'

Galbatorix's eyes were icy. 'Let someone else do it. I've done enough.'

Tranah looked up for the first time. Her eyes were red. 'You piece of filth,' she said in a low voice. 'How dare you?'

'I promised to win you the war,' Galbatorix snapped back. 'That was all. I've done that now.'

'Strein died to save you,' Tranah snarled. 'Roland died. All those people died so that you could live. And now you're going to run away and betray everything they cared about.' She spat. 'I should never have followed you. You're a liar and a coward.'

Galbatorix drew his sword and pointed it at her. 'Don't – call – me – a _coward!_' he roared.

Tranah showed no sign of fear. Nor did she draw her own sword. She glared at him, teeth bared. 'Don't you _understand?_ Are you really that stupid? We weren't fighting to destroy the elders, we were fighting to replace them. Those people out there came here to fight and die for you. Not me, not Morzan, not Orwyne or any of us, but for _you._ And now you're going to abandon them? How can you be so unfeeling?'

Galbatorix's face was a mask of agony. '_I – can't feel – anything any more! _There's nothing left inside me, don't you understand? I can't smile, I can't laugh, I can't even cry.' Tears started to glisten in his eyes, but his face remained dry. 'I'm a dead man, Tranah,' he said, his voice breaking. 'I'm walking around, I'm breathing, but I'm dead. I'm dead but I can't lie down and die. I've got nothing left, nothing… nothing…'

Galbatorix's outburst died away and he dropped Vrael's head and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders heaving.

Silence reigned in the chamber for a time. No-one moved to comfort him. Shruikan, standing by the entrance, let out a little moan of unhappiness.

At last, Morzan spoke up. 'If you won't rule,' he said. 'Then I will.'

Galbatorix looked up. 'You can't.'

'Says who?' Morzan retorted. 'If you won't do it, then I will. And the first thing I'll do is send you back to the North where you belong and make sure you don't ever come back.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Oh yes I bloody well would,' said Morzan. 'You already betrayed one ruler – who says you won't do it again?'

'Shut up, Morzan,' Tranah snapped.

'Be quiet,' said Vander, his quiet voice cutting across them all. 'Sir,' he turned to Galbatorix. 'This is not our decision to make.' He pointed at the entrance to the cave, toward the city below. 'Your followers are waiting out there,' he said. 'Many of them are refusing to go home. They've been calling for you all this while. They need to see you again, to know you're alive. Go out there, sir, and ask them what they want you to do. You owe them that.'

Galbatorix's anger drained away as suddenly as it had come, and he sheathed White Violence. He stood still for a moment, staring at his boots, and then bent and picked up Vrael's sword and severed head. He looked at Vander, his eyes dead and empty. 'You should have left me in that tomb,' he said quietly. 'You should have sealed me in and left me.' He turned and walked out of the circle, toward the door leading into the tower, head bowed.

When Galbatorix emerged from the doors at the base of the tower and came out onto the steps leading into the city, he found Shruikan waiting for him. And, gathered in front of the tower, were his followers. Hundreds upon hundreds of people – humans and urgals both – packed into the streets around the tower and watching for his arrival.

When he appeared, the response was instantaneous. Every single member of the crowd raised his fist over his head, and roared. A thousand voices shouted out his name. Calling to him.

Galbatorix stood at the top of the steps, looking down at them all. Every eye was fixed on him. He could hear their voices, chanting. _'Galbatorix, Galbatorix, Lord Galbatorix!'_

He sighed deeply, and muttered the spell that would amplify his voice. Then he raised his arms, holding up Vrael's head in one hand and his sword in the other, showing them to the crowd. 'Vrael is dead!' he shouted.

Shouts rose from the crowd, and cheers, and the chanting of his name grew yet louder. Standing on the steps beside the doors, Shruikan lifted his head and roared.

Silence fell.

Galbatorix stood still for a moment, unspeaking. Then he knelt. He laid down the sword and the head, and fell to his knees, bowing his head to the assembled people. 'I have kept my promise,' he said, his voice echoing out over the city. 'Vrael is dead and the elves vanquished. You helped me do this, and now I have come to ask you: what would you have me do now, to repay you for what you have done for me? Ask what you will of me, and I will do it. I am yours.'

Silence. Great, deep, waiting silence.

And then, from the crowd, someone shouted into the silence.

'KING GALBATORIX!'

Galbatorix looked up, bewildered.

'King Galbatorix!' someone else shouted. 'King of Alagaësia!'

The rest of the crowd started to join in. Hundreds of voices cried out to him, becoming one voice, one deep, commanding voice. _'King Galbatorix!'_ it shouted.

Galbatorix stood, his heart pounding. 'Would you have me be your King?'

The shouts became yet louder. 'King Galbatorix! King Galbatorix!'

Quiet despair settled over him. He reached into his robe, into a hidden pocket sewn inside it. His fingers closed around the object he kept in there, and he pulled it out.

Saethryn's crown gleamed silver in the sunlight. The stone set into it was the pale, hard blue of a frozen lake, and the circlet itself was etched with dark elvish runes. Galbatorix knew what they said. _For the greatest of all servants. _

'King Galbatorix!' the crowd shouted.

A voice echoed to him from far away, journeying back to him from out of the past, in a better time, when the boy called Arren was still alive, and an old elf told him things he did not want to hear.

_I saw you. The eyes of a dark elf, the ears of a human, bearing a white sword and wearing a silver crown. I saw a great King._

'King Galbatorix!'

_King, the Great King, the Great King…_

A voice whispered in his head. _How much longer will you keep running, Sire?_

A tear slowly trickled down Galbatorix's face. He lifted the crown and put it on.

It fitted perfectly.

Two days later, in the great hall at the base of the Elders' Tower, Galbatorix sat on a carved chair with his sword across his lap. Morzan, Tranah, Vander, Tuomas, Orwyne and Ana stood in a row behind him, glad in ceremonial armour inlaid with enamel to match their swords.

Galbatorix wore his usual black robe over an ornate breastplate, emblazoned with the triple-spiral symbol. His hair was neatly combed, shining with health, and his beard trimmed into a perfect point. His face was calm, his look full of confidence and authority. Few people there ever noticed the expression that showed in his eyes from time to time, or the coldness in the faces of the Forsworn. They saw a group of victorious warriors standing behind their leader, side-by-side, united and invulnerable in their power. Nar Kvarn and several other urgal chieftains stood beside Galbatorix's chair, their horns decorated with ceremonial bone carvings and feathers, and the hall itself was packed with people. Even the Ra'zac were there, and Durza as well, standing on Galbatorix's other side.

Orwyne, as the oldest of the Forsworn, was the one to conduct the ceremony. She came forward to stand in front of the crowd, her green-inlaid armour shining in the sunlight from the windows, and began. 'All those gathered here,' she intoned, 'Bear witness to this, the naming of Alagaësia's new ruler. You, the people of this country, united under a common banner, have chosen him to lead you, and from this day forth all those who challenge him will be guilty of having committed treason against you. Your loyalty is the only return asked of you. Be faithful, and peace and prosperity shall be yours.' She moved to stand behind the throne, and lifted the silver circlet, holding it over Galbatorix's head as she spoke in the ancient language. 'May you be judge and warlord, master and protector, may you care for your people above all else, may you live long and shield us from misfortune.' She repeated the words in the common language, and then she placed the crown on his head. 'Rise, King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni the First, Lord of Alagaësia.'

Cheers rose to the roof as Galbatorix stood. He looked down on his new subjects, and they knelt to him, bowing their heads. The Forsworn knelt too, and Durza, and Nar Kvarn, and the Ra'zac. He saw them all, and their devotion, and closed his eyes for a moment. _Laela…_

Orwyne looked up. 'What is your first command, Sire?'

Galbatorix sighed and gathered his resolve. 'My… my people,' he said, letting his voice fill the hall. 'I have decided… we are going to destroy this city. We will level it to the ground and leave nothing but the foundations. Ilirea was an elvish city. We will build another city in its place. A human city. My government will have its seat there. Those who wish to may go back to their homes. I will send my followers out from here, to keep the peace just as riders should. Nar Kvarn…' he turned to face the urgal chief, who bowed his head to him. 'You and your people will be given land. Those who wish to live alongside humans, in our cities, may do so, as long as they agree to abide by our laws.' He turned to the Forsworn. 'Morzan. You will govern in Gil'ead. Tranah, Teirm is yours to command. Orwyne, you and Tuomas will rule Dras-Leona and oversee the rebuilding of the Cathedral of the Three Peaks. Ana, you will be responsible for Kuasta. Vander, you will go to Feinster and guard the Surdan border. Durza, you and the Ra'zac will remain with me.'

They bowed to him. 'Yes, Sire.'

Galbatorix put White Violence back into its sheath. 'Go,' he told the people. 'We have work to do. All of us.'

He followed them out of the hall, and the Forsworn went with him. When he stopped in the open doorway to watch the people spread out through the city, they came to stand around him in a little group.

'What do we do now… Sire?' said Morzan.

'Call the dragons,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'We will begin destroying the city today. Fire, magic… whatever it takes. Leave the outer walls intact.'

'Yes, Sire.'

They left, some heading into the city and others returning to the tower. Galbatorix stayed where he was, watching as smoke started to rise once more from among Ilirea's white buildings. A few moments later, he saw Idün rise from the ground not far away and fly low over the city, blasting it with fire. The other dragons of the Forsworn soon joined her, and in less than half an hour Ilirea was ablaze, its stone walls crumbling in the heat.

There was a rush of air from overhead, and Shruikan came down to land beside his partner. Galbatorix patted the dragon's shoulder, his eyes still fixed on the burning city below them.

'I'll never see Skade again,' he said aloud.

Shruikan nudged him gently with his snout. _'She'll come back, Galbatorix. One day. You'll see.'_

Galbatorix sighed. He touched the crown, adjusting its set on his black curls. A deafening crash came from below as a building collapsed in on itself, sending dust and flames into the air. The Forsworn had moved on to begin demolishing the towers; he could hear the sound of magic exploding against the white stone, and the low, ominous rumbling of falling walls.

'And so begin the days of the King,' he said.

Something was prodding him in the side. It hurt, and he moaned softly.

A voice came from somewhere far away. 'Oh my gods… I think he's alive.'

Hands rolled him over onto his back, and someone patted his face.

'Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?'

He coughed weakly and mumbled a word.

'Help me with him,' the voice said. 'C'mon, move it!'

Strong arms lifted him up off the ground where he lay, and after that he saw nothing but darkness for a long time.

Over the next day or so he woke and slept, woke and slept again. Sometimes, when he was awake, he was aware that there were people there. They brought him water and asked him questions, but he couldn't remember how to speak. He couldn't remember who he was. Nor did he particularly care.

The people who had found him didn't know what to make of him. They did their best to care for the wild-eyed boy, bringing him food and water and making sure he stayed warm. Most of the time he seemed barely aware that they were there. All he did was stare blankly at the walls or the ceiling, his eyes roving here and there as if in search for something. When he slept, he mumbled a strange word over and over again – the only one he seemed to know how to say. _Saphira._ Just that one word.

They suspected that he was a survivor from the massacre at Vroengard, and were careful to keep his presence in their home a secret. Nowadays, it was a bad idea to even talk about the old riders or the massacres, and if they were sheltering someone loyal to them it could mean trouble. They argued about it several times, frightened and uncertain, not knowing what they should do with him or whether they should go on caring for him when he could be a danger to them.

In the end, however, he solved their problem for them. After over a month spent in the same demented state he had been in when they found him, he suddenly vanished during the night – leaving behind nothing but a broken window to tell the tale. Neither of his carers would ever see him again.

The boy, however, knew where he was going. He left the village under cover of night for the countryside beyond, and headed North. There was nothing left inside him – no memories, no knowledge… nothing but pain. And, in the midst of it all, a voice that called to him. _Go North. Go to the forest. Go to Ellesméra. Go._

So he went, walking on doggedly through day and night, heedless of all else, through wind and rain, starvation and exhaustion, bent on reaching his goal. He had to get there. He had to get home. She was waiting for him there. He knew it.

The time of the elves was over. The Ellesmérans knew it.

The survivors of Galbatorix's massacres had gathered together in the city and begun rebuilding it, though there seemed little point in doing so. They had lost all hope of their race's recovery.

When Oromis came, comatose in Glaedr's claws, what had at first felt like a spark of hope quickly revealed itself to be just the final blow to the elves. Though Oromis remained in a coma for some days, Glaedr was able to give some account of what was happening in the outside world, and it was all bad. The war was over, and the traitors had won. Ilirea was destroyed and the last of Vrael's riders had been killed or had fled. No-one now had the strength to fight back against the Forsworn, and the humans of Alagaësia had risen up and taken full control of its lands, declaring themselves a free people who would not submit to elvish rule any more.

And, when Oromis finally revived, he gave a chilling account of what he had seen and what had happened to him. 'Yansan and Saraswati are dead,' he told Islanzadí, his voice hushed. 'Vrael has fled. He won't survive long. The Betrayer will-,' he broke off, and suddenly let out a sob.

'What is it, my Lord?' Islanzadí asked softly, taking his hand.

'I'm sorry,' said Oromis, shuddering. 'I… I saw…'

'What, my Lord? What did you see?'

'I saw terrible things in Ilirea,' Oromis whispered. 'I saw evil. I saw, I saw, I… the half-breed, he-,' he started to sob, his normal haughty calm utterly gone.

It was a long time before he could control himself again.

'Yansan and Saraswati are dead,' he said again. 'I saw them die. And their dragons. And… other riders. Prisoners. The half-breed… he… I…'

'What did he do, Oromis. Please tell me.'

'Magic,' Oromis said at last. 'Dark magic. Evil magic. He used us. Drained our energy, used us to give himself power. It was… I felt it. I felt them die. I felt them all die. I was… I was the only survivor. When the circle was broken, everyone died, all at once. And I felt them die…'

Islanzadí listened, and afterwards she could find nothing to say. She left Oromis alone, unable to comfort him. What could she possibly say to him after what had happened to him, or console him for a pain she could scarcely imagine? No…

Oromis gradually regained some of his strength after this, but it soon became apparent that he would never completely recover. He moved slowly now, sometimes wincing in pain, and his hands had a tremor, as if he were some feeble old human. He eventually confessed privately to Islanzadí that he was no longer able to use magic. The ability to channel magical energy had simply left him.

'I am sorry, my Lady,' he told her. 'I have failed you, and I cannot fight for you any more.'

'No, Oromis,' said Islanzadí. 'Do not apologise. You have done more and more bravely than any other warrior I have ever known, and you should not be ashamed of yourself. No-one can fight against the half-breed's evil. Not even Vrael himself. We have all failed, and the guilt belongs to us all.' She bowed her head. 'Darkness has taken over this land. The ending of our time, and the destruction of our people, is our punishment.'

Oromis nodded slowly. 'Yes… we should not have allowed humans to become riders. Our faith in their goodness was our undoing.'

'The half-breed is not human,' Islanzadí reminded him.

'No. You are right, Islanzadí. And some day, perhaps, a human will come who can redeem his race.'

'It is our only hope,' said Islanzadí.


	62. Dark Endings

Chapter Sixty-Two

Dark Endings

The destruction of Ilirea took a month, in the end. Under the direction of the Forsworn and with their help, the rebels demolished every major building, including the six towers, now stripped of all their supplies and valuables. Only a few of the dwellings and the outer walls were left more or less untouched. The way was now clear for the new city to be built. But by now it was plain that the people who had first marched on Ilirea were ready to go home. The war was over and they had lives to return to, and there was too little food in the city to support them all.

Galbatorix knew it already, and brought the surviving Forsworn together on the evening of the day the last tower was thrown down. 'It's time for us to go our separate ways,' he told them.

'Yes, Sire,' said Orwyne.

'You'll start preparing to leave tomorrow,' Galbatorix said briefly. 'Lead the people back to their homes. Your new provinces need you now.'

'So we're all to go, Sire?' Morzan ventured. 'What about you?'

'I'll stay here and oversee the building. Send all the workmen you can find here. The sooner the city's finished the better. And anyone who wants to stay here can do so.'

Vander glanced at the others. 'Will you… be all right on your own, Sire?'

Galbatorix's expression did not change. 'Your people are waiting for you, Lord Vander.'

Vander bowed rather stiffly and left. The rest of the Forsworn followed him, some glancing back at Galbatorix. He watched them wordlessly, his stare impassive. As the last of them left, he longed to run after them, to talk to them, to beg them not to abandon him, but the words died inside him and he turned away, head bowed.

Over the next day or so the Forsworn gathered their new subjects and left Ilirea's ruins. Galbatorix saw them off, but the farewells were brief and formal. Tranah departed in the small hours of the morning without even waiting to say goodbye, and Orwyne and Tuomas left together on the following day. Vander and Ana were already gone.

Morzan was last to leave. He and Galbatorix met on the city wall as the people below began their march Northward, carrying their possessions on their backs like so many ants.

'We shouldn't have too much trouble,' said Morzan, watching them. 'I'll send a bird once I'm there. Sire,' he added.

'You don't have to call me that, Morzan.'

'Well, I guess it's all over, then,' said Morzan, ignoring him. 'Time to get back to our duties. I'm not sure…' he glanced toward the horizon, where Gil'ead waited. 'I'm not sure how good of a ruler I'll be, but I'll do my best for you, Sire.'

Galbatorix watched him. Saw how tired he looked. 'You're a good man, Morzan,' he said at last. 'You're stronger than you think.'

'I'm a rider,' Morzan said briefly. 'We're all strong. But I'll never be as strong as you, and I never will be either.'

'I'm not strong, Morzan.'

'Yes you are,' said Morzan. 'It's just as well,' he added. 'A King has to be strong.'

Galbatorix said nothing.

Morzan looked down over the wall. The last of the Gil'eadians were out of the city and moving out onto the road heading Northwards. He sighed. 'Well, looks like I'd better go. See you later, Sire.' He bowed and turned away to where Idün waited.

As he was adjusting the saddle, Galbatorix finally forced himself to speak. 'Morzan-,'

Morzan turned. 'Yes, Sire?'

'Morzan, I-,' Galbatorix fell silent, staring at the ground.

'What is it, Sire?' said Morzan.

Galbatorix looked up. 'Good luck.'

'Yes, Sire,' said Morzan. 'And good luck to you too, Sire.'

Galbatorix watched him climb into the saddle with a strange and terrible sense of helplessness, as if he were seeing his friend for the last time. And he knew that, in a sense, he was – even if they did meet again. Morzan was Lord Morzan of Gil'ead now.

Morzan had strapped himself into the saddle, and Idün tensed in readiness to take off. He looked down at Galbatorix and seemed about to say something, but then the red dragon launched herself from the wall and glided away over the heads of the departing column.

Galbatorix turned to watch her, his hands resting on the parapet, the wind ruffling his hair. Behind him, Shruikan raised his head and howled – a loud, lonely, bitter cry that rose into the sky like a ghostly dragon taking flight. It followed Idün a she flew away, but neither she nor Morzan looked back.

Galbatorix said nothing to Shruikan. He touched the black dragon's snout briefly and turned away toward the steps leading down from the wall and back into the city.

As he walked through the ruined streets, his robe swirling, the people he passed stopped and turned to watch him. And they knelt, bowing their heads to him. He could hear their voices, murmuring softly. _Sire_. _My Lord_.

He could hardly bear to look at them. Quite suddenly, as he made for the place where the towers had been and where he had made a temporary home for himself, he was gripped by an urge to turn back. He wanted to go back to Shruikan – to _run_ back to him, and to fly away with him, away from Ilirea, away from Alagaësia, away over the sea.

He clenched his fists and fought the feeling, turning his back on it just as he had turned his back on Morzan. It left him slowly, and once it had gone, leaden despair thudded into his chest. On his head, the crown suddenly felt like a dead weight, dragging him down, and he took it off and stuffed it into his robe.

He reached his camp and sat down by the heap of charcoal from the previous night's fire, head in his hands.

He didn't move for a long time. When he did, it was to take a small dagger from his belt. He held it between his hands, watching the light move over the blade. He ran a thumb along its edge to test its sharpness, and stared blankly at the blood that beaded on his skin. If anyone had been watching him, they would have seen no hint of his thoughts showing on his face. His eyes, as black and glittering as always, were cold and distant, his angular face expressionless. He did not look like a man who understood weakness, or felt any hint of it himself, and there was an aura about him now – something, some presence, that enhanced the natural darkness in him, making the sunlight that touched him look somehow dull and faint. It was something that would define him in the eyes of his people, and in the eyes of all those who would ever see or speak of him for the next one hundred years: fear.

Night lay over the land of Alagaësia; black, eyeless night. It was a new moon, and even the stars seemed subdued. Somewhere in a forest, huddled at the base of a tree, a young man stared into the darkness, transfixed by a wavering image only he could see, his once-bright blue eyes dim and glazed. He saw a strange, pale-faced man – one clad in a black robe, his face framed by neat black curls – a man whose black, glittering eyes stared straight back at him as he threw back his head and laughed; a faint, crazed, cruel and evil laugh.

'I'll kill you,' the boy whispered, again and again. 'I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll kill you…' he closed his eyes and raised his hands to his face, tearing at the skin with his fingernails, his heart a gaping wound inside him. '_Saphira._ I'll kill him. Saphira I'll kill him I'll kill him, _Saphira_…'

And in Ellesméra, on a rocky crag high above the Stone of Broken Eggs, Oromis sat with Glaedr by his side and stared at the gedwëy ignaesia on his hand. 'He must die,' he murmured aloud. 'He must die for his crimes.'

'_We will see him dead,'_ Glaedr whispered. _'One day we shall see him dead. One day…'_

And in the ruins of the city that had once been Ilirea, King Galbatorix Taranisäii lay awake in his hammock, clutching his sword tightly by the hilt, his hands trembling. His face was as still and cold as marble. He was exhausted, but he could not sleep. When he slept, he heard the screams echoing in his mind. Voices screaming his name. _I saw you, I saw a great King, I saw, I saw, I saw a Great King, saw a Great King, Galbatorix Taranisäii the Great King, I saw you, I saw…_

Galbatorix shuddered. He tried to distract himself by recalling the dark elvish lament he had once shared with his friends. 'A' cur dallaidh air a léir…' but the words wouldn't come right any more. He had lost them. He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in thoughts of Laela, but she too was beyond his grasp now. His memory whispered to him, tormenting him, forcing him to stay awake. He wondered if he was going mad.

The thought made him want to laugh. Who would care if he did?

He did not sleep that night. Or the next.

And, far away, in his fine room in Gil'ead's castle, Morzan sat alone in the dim light of a single candle. He picked up a flagon and rather unsteadily poured himself another cup of wine. He downed it in a few gulps and slumped in his chair, letting the cup fall to the floor. On the table in front of him was a sword; its blade a pale shade of ice-blue. Its hilt, silver and studded with sapphires, was engraved with the name _Íssbrandr. _

Morzan's big hands closed around the sword-hilt, and he held the weapon tightly, his back shaking with suppressed sobs. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, tears slowly leaking from his eyes. 'I'm so sorry.'

Far away from Alagaësia, in a land that lay over the sea, a big silver dragon lay curled up on a clifftop, her golden eyes watching over the five young dragons as they slept nearby, wings and tails entwined. All strong hatchlings, all with the promise of powerful adulthood to come. But she knew what she had not told them, or her father, why there was something not quite entirely dragonlike about them. Something quiet, something curious and eager, something almost gentle. Something almost… human.

Skade looked up at the sky and let out a deep, rumbling sigh. She had found the thing she had been seeking all her life, and reached the place she had nearly died to reach. Her long search and her sufferings along the way had not been in vain, and she had the home she had always longed for, and the family as well. She knew her father would not let her return to Alagaësia, and she knew, too, that she should not want to return to it.

But somehow, somewhere deep inside her, a part of her would not let her forget it, or allow her to let go of what she had left there. She closed her eyes and dreamed of a time, years ago, when she had looked through different eyes and heard through different ears, a time when she had known something and someone she could not forget. Even now it was in her mind every day and every night, and she could not shake off the feeling that had stayed with her since the day she flew away over the sea – a feeling that she had left something behind, something she needed.

She let the memory fill her mind, cherishing it, filling her heart with its sweet sadness and longing. _I will not forget,_ she promised it. _I will never forget. I will return. One day, I will return._

After that she slept. And dreamed distant, loving dreams.

The new city took a long time to form, but it did, little by little. The Forsworn had sent builders, architects, craftsmen and stonemasons, and, working together under the direct supervision of Galbatorix himself, they set to work and the city began to take shape. A quarry was dug, and stone blocks were brought to the site to be the beginnings of a castle - an ordinary, human castle. Beneath its foundations were the old catacombs of Ilirea, and its store-rooms and dungeons, and the city itself retained some of the warehouses, stables and houses. Others sprang up around them, built of mud-brick and thatch, just as humans preferred. There were even a few urgal longhouses, for those of Nar Kvarn's people who had chosen to stay.

And, as the work continued on steadily, there was one thing that remained a constant in the lives of all those who had chosen to stay: Galbatorix. The newly crowned King of Alagaësia spent all his time in the growing city, and soon became a familiar presence among its streets. He chose to walk here and there as the mood took him, overseeing the building, talking to the workers, giving commands. From time to time he even helped with the work; using magic to lift heavy stones, offering advice and solving quandaries. He was rarely seen wearing the crown, and unlike most nobles he was not accompanied by guards. But, of course, everyone knew that he was perfectly capable of defending himself. He was quickly accepted by the people, who watched out for him with as much excitement as nervousness. Not that he was particularly friendly, or a soothing presence. His look now was unreadable, his eyes distant, his voice cold and steady – accustomed to command. Nobody ever saw him smile, or laugh. But in spite of that they viewed him with immense respect. King Galbatorix Taranisäii the first; their ruler and their friend.

And, as two years went by and the city slowly drew closer to completion, he took up residence in the half-completed castle, choosing a simple bedroom furnished with nothing but a desk, a chest and a hammock hanging from the ceiling. A plain room for a King, but the only one he would accept.

On the day that would have been his twenty-fifth birthday, he laid the foundation stone, using his magic to inscribe it with the triple-spiral, the date, and a single word. Few there could read it, and nobody knew what it meant.

'This city will be our home,' Galbatorix intoned to the crowd that had come to watch the ceremony. 'My home, and yours. And we will call it… Urû'baen.'

He attended the celebratory feast that night in a desultory fashion; eating little and saying less. Nobody commented on it. They were used to his silence by now.

Next day he decided to visit the craftsmen's' district, where workshops for blacksmiths, tailors, whitesmiths and other tradesmen were springing up. As he paused to watch a heavy beam being raised, he saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a man nervously trying to get his attention.

'Yes? What is it?'

The man bowed his head. 'Sire… my Lord.'

'Out with it,' said Galbatorix.

The man appeared to pull himself together. 'Sire, my name is Erik. I'm sorry to bother you, but I saw you yesterday, and I was thinking…'

'Yes?'

'Well, it's your boots, Sire,' said Erik. 'They looked pretty worn out to me, and I was wondering if perhaps you would like me to make you a new pair.'

Galbatorix looked at him with a touch of curiosity. 'You're a leather-worker?'

'Yes, Sire. I just set up a workshop not far from here.'

'May I see it?'

'Oh! Well, yes, Sire, of course, if you'll just follow me…' Erik hurried away.

Galbatorix followed him, the stone-coated soles of his old boots clinking on the cobbles. Erik led him to a small building and inside it, to a low-ceilinged room with a bench lining one wall.

'Here it is, Sire,' he said, showing him in through the door. 'It's not much,' he added apologetically, 'But it works well enough for me.'

Galbatorix stood in the middle of the room, breathing in the air. It smelled of leather and oil, and the instant it hit him he felt a hundred memories come rushing back. He walked toward the bench as if in a trance. It was covered in leather scraps, and a partly completed boot was held in a clamp. Rows of tools were lined up on the scarred wooden surface – awls, knives, needles and waxed cord… all of them so familiar.

Galbatorix examined them. 'You have some good tools here.'

'Thankyou, Sire,' said Erik. 'They were passed down to me by my dad. He taught me my craft, just as my grandfather taught him. Before I turned ten I could make a pair of sandals in a day.'

Galbatorix barely heard him. Without even thinking, he picked up an awl. It fitted into his hand perfectly, and his fingers moved to grip the handle just as they would grip the hilt of his sword – commanding it precisely and absolutely. He glanced at Erik. 'May I?'

'By all means, Sire,' said Erik.

Galbatorix picked up the thick leather sole that lay on the bench, and fitted it in place on the boot, marking points around its edge with a stick of charcoal. Once that was done he placed it back on the bench, picked up a hammer and selected a different awl, with a sturdy wooden handle. He pressed its point into the leather, and gave the handle a sharp tap with the hammer, punching a hole through it. Then he moved on, making holes around the edges of the sole until he had done. Then he placed it onto the boot again, and picked up a large needle and a spool of waxed thread. He threaded the needle, and then began to stitch.

He didn't know why he was doing it. He could see his hands moving as if of their own accord, expertly adjusting the sole to make sure it was on straight, pinching the edges together with each pull of the needle to keep the stitching even. He could see the boot slowly being completed before his eyes, taking shape like a castle being built. And it was so easy, so natural, as if he had done it a million times before. And he had. He knew he had.

From somewhere far away, he heard Erik's voice. 'My gods… Sire, how do you know how to do that?'

Galbatorix smiled to himself. 'Someone taught me a long time ago.'

His hands still knew what to do. They took the boot out of the vice and turned it over, checking the stitching and pulling on the tongue to make sure it was secure.

A sudden sense of absurdity and embarrassment came over him. What was he _doing?_ He was a King, and he was here in a grubby workshop, playing with bits of leather.

But somehow he could not make himself stop. There was a second boot on the bench-top, this one only partly made, and he picked up a piece of spare leather and began to cut and shape it. He was a King, and he was making boots. But, then, wasn't that what he had always done?

From somewhere inside him, he could feel something stirring, some voice whispering to him, a voice he had thought was gone forever. And with it came a presence – small and weak, but friendly.

'…Arren?' he murmured aloud. 'Is that you?'


End file.
